


The Sound of Dean Mattering to Someone

by criminycakes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Artist Castiel, Best Friends, Blow Jobs, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Neighbors, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Dean-Centric, Drunk Castiel, Drunk Dean, Drunken Kissing, Episode: s03e08 A Very Supernatural Christmas, Explicit Sexual Content, Explosives, F/M, Fights, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Growing Up Together, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, High School, Holidays, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jessica Moore and Sam Winchester are Cute, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Neighbors, Oral Sex, Plot, Punching, Recreational Drug Use, Sam Ships It, Secret Messages, Slow Build, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Romance, Young Castiel, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:16:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 29,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/criminycakes/pseuds/criminycakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Dean become best friends almost instantly when Castiel moves in next door in 1985. This is their story, which charts the following decade (and then some) of life, love, gifts, messages, secrets, and sketchbooks.</p><p>I'm really bad at summaries.</p><p>It starts off slow but picks up the pace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lawrence, Kansas  
4th of July, 1996  


Dean

Dean didn't bother turning the lights on. He didn't want to face the emptiness of the house and turning the lights on while John and Sam were both out was like bringing up politics at dinner: It broke the peace and shed unnecessary light on what was usually hidden for a reason. His eyes were already adjusted. Besides, considering what Dean was about to do, darkness suited him better. He pulled on a black button-down and went downstairs. He stood by the big living room window to center himself, eyes closed to avoid looking at Cas' house. When he opened them he thought he saw a flash of movement across the way. He drew back against the wall to watch, but nothing else moved. The windows remained dark and devoid of life. Probably just his imagination. He shook himself. The framed photo on the mantelpiece caught his eye. John Winchester was front and center, his arms around a young Sam. On the left, Bobby and Ellen with Jo and Charlie. Dean on the right with Cas, the two boys leaning against each other with an easy familiarity. Their flash-frozen grins made Dean's knees weak. His breath caught and he felt his chest tighten twice; once with bittersweet affection and once with anger. He felt ready to destroy something. The smiling people in the photo frame watched him leave. Emptiness took his place.


	2. Chapter 2

1987  
  
John

That was the year they really became family. John Winchester, tired of scrambling around after an eight-year-old Dean and a four-year-old Sammy without the relief of school or daycare, had called up Bobby and Ellen and asked if they wanted to bring Jo along on a trip to Sedgwick County Zoo in Wichita. The weather was beautiful, the kids were hyper, the zoo was open, and the hours of entertainment seemed worth the long (ish) drive. John never minded driving anyway. You'd think, as a truck driver, he'd want to avoid the road during his time off, but behind the wheel was the one place where John always felt safe. Nothing happened in a car that he couldn't control. Driving also had the dual benefit of letting him relax and making him feel productive at the same time. He didn't do long-haul trips though, not yet. He didn't want to leave his boys alone for more than two or three days, even with the neighbors checking in. Maybe when Dean was a little older he could take the bigger jobs. He mostly drove within the state so he knew the routes well, and driving from Lawrence to Wichita would put them past Emporia, where Bobby and Ellen had settled. He knew they would have to take two cars anyway, so when he called Bobby, he suggested the kids bring friends. Between the three of them, they agreed, they could manage a few younger ones, especially since Dean was becoming more independent.  
And that was how John found himself buckling a happily babbling Sammy into a booster seat while Dean bounced around Castiel from next door, telling him all about the Australian Outback exhibit and the kid's park where you could draw on the sidewalks with chalk. Castiel was listening calmly, staring at Dean with wide, trusting eyes. Castiel's father, Chuck, a thin, rumpled man in a thin, rumpled dressing gown, stood squinting at John loading the car.  
'You sure you're okay to take him? I could come along...'  
'Don't worry about it. A buddy of mine and his wife will be joining us. We can handle it.'  
'Of course, sure. You have our house number?'  
John patted his breast pocket reassuringly. 'Got it right here. Don't you worry. I'm sure we're all going to have a great time. Right, Sammy?'  
A bright smile because that was his dad's bright-smile tone of voice. 'Yeah!'  
'Right, Dean?'  
'Yeah! We can go see the apes, right? Cas has never seen one!' and with that he turned back to Castiel to resume their conversation as they clambered in and buckled their seatbelts. In his excitement, Sam threw his small stuffed toy at Dean, who patiently picked it up and handed it back.  
Chuck leaned down to speak to Castiel through the open window. John had always wondered why those kids got stuck with such bizarre names. Michael and Gabriel were understandable, but Castiel? Anael? He just couldn't fathom it. He heard an echo of Mary's voice: To each their own, sweetheart. He got in, fastening his seatbelt.  
'Hey, Cas, you have your snacks? You be good and listen to Mr. Winchester, okay?'  
'Okay, dad.'  
'See you when you get back.' He straightened up and John started the car.  
'Bye!' Dean and Castiel chirped.  
'Bye-bye!' Sam echoed.

John watched Sam run full-tilt to Jo and her friend, a miniscule girl with flame-red hair, at the first exhibit. His feet hit the ground so hard John thought it was a miracle the pavement didn't crack. He always forgot just how tall Sam was for his age until he saw him with other kids. Especially Jo, who was a year younger. Bobby and Ellen followed more sedately. John gave Bobby a firm handshake and kissed Ellen on the cheek.  
'Good to see you, John. How you holding up?'  
'Oh, you know. Got my hands full with these two.'  
'John Winchester, your boys are angels and you know it.'  
John let out an amiable laugh. 'Easy for you to say, Ellen, you don't have to fix everything Dean breaks while he's pretending to be a repairman with his toolkit.' John knelt down. 'Hello, sweetheart,' he said to Jo, who hid behind her mother's legs, grinning shyly. 'And who's this?' John looked up expectantly at Ellen and Bobby.  
'This is Jo's friend, Charlie. Her mom and dad are friends of ours. Thought they could use a break for the day. She's a clever one. Like Houdini, right Charlie? This is Uncle John.'  
John waved a small-child wave.  
'Hi, Ungle Dawn,' the flame-haired girl responded, and patted the air in his direction.  
'Daddy, look!' Sam pointed to Dean and Castiel, already at the first exhibit. 'C'mon, Jo! C'mon, Charlie!' Three sets of chubby toddler legs went into maximum overdrive.  
John, Bobby, and Ellen followed, and John called out, 'Dean!' Dean turned and Castiel turned with him. 'Remember what I said about running off, son. I want you to be able to see me, Uncle Bobby, and Aunt Ellen at all times. You too, Castiel. Understood?' he finished sternly. Castiel nodded solemnly and Dean replied, 'Got it, dad.'  
'Hey, you! Come give me a hug!' Ellen called. Dean smiled and wrapped his arms around her briefly, then around Bobby. John watched his son's face carefully. Dean was always smiling now, always easily affectionate and openly sincere. This made John anxious for two reasons. First, because seeing Dean so open was terrifying in a human way, like seeing a patient blithely awake for open-heart surgery, and knowing this made John think of how easy it would be for the scalpel to slip. Second, because John could never forget the period of nearly two years after Mary's death in which Dean had clammed up. It was a chafing razor's edge: Complete and utter vulnerability on one side, complete unreachable radio static on the other. Fear for his son and fear of his son pulled John's peace of mind in opposite directions and, even if he did not recognize all this himself, filled him with a vague sense of unease.  
'Good to see you, kiddo. You grew about a foot,' Bobby grumbled. 'Who's your friend?'  
Dean turned and threw his arm around Castiel's shoulders. 'This is Cas! He's lived next door to us forever! We're in the same homeroom, too.'  
'Well, hi, Cas. I'm Ellen, and this is Bobby. Nice to meet you.'  
'Nice to meet you too,' Castiel said, oddly formal for someone under ten. 'Dean talks about you a lot.'  
Bobby looked pleasantly surprised at that, and John felt irrationally grateful. Dean turned back to the exhibit then, a vast expanse of grassy earth with a slab of water twinkling brightly in the middle. John watched his older son scan the enclosure carefully, his still-small hands clutching the wire fence, one of his shoulders pressed up against Castiel's. It made John feel nostalgic somehow, observing this small symbol of youth, the oblivious closeness, the mindless connection. John missed that a lot. He hadn't been able to face dating again after Mary's death, had dreaded the thought of small talk, platitudes, trying to navigate the terrain of someone else's life.  
'There it is, Cas! There. You see it?' Dean pointed at the suggestion of movement, a creature half-hidden behind a clump of rocks. Castiel squinted, and Dean grabbed his shoulders and maneuvered him into the right angle of view.  
'I see it!' Castiel sounded excited. 'Whoa.'  
'I know, right?' Dean grinned. 'Think we can get it to come over?'  
'I don't think so. Unless you have food for it.'  
Jo and Charlie wandered off to pick the grass that grew up through the fences, and Bobby and Ellen trailed after them.  
Sam tugged at Dean's sleeve. 'Dean, can't see.'  
'Don't worry, Sammy, we'll lift you. C'mon, Cas, just like we did at school.'  
Dean and Castiel both crossed their arms at the wrists and grabbed each other's hands, then they lowered their makeshift sling and let Sam clamber on. They straightened up, lifting a delighted Sam to peer through the fence. 'There it is, Sammy, see it?' Dean nodded at the creature, which emerged from behind the rocks, a hulking dog-like shape covered in spotted fur, with a hunched back and a dark tufted tail. A hyena, John thought. Sam looked at the hyena and Dean looked at Sam. The look of wonder on Sammy's face was really something. John almost didn't notice the look of wonder on Dean's.

Two hours later, they settled at a picnic table by the playground with some plain burgers ('No ketchup, Daddy, no no.'). Dean and Castiel scarfed down their burgers and took off running to the playground. John could see them howling with laughter and chasing each other. Jo, Sam, and Charlie were all playing around with their food and carrying on a half-nonsensical conversation.  
'Isn't it something,' Bobby quipped, picking up a fry, 'the zoo is this huge attraction and all kids really want to do is play on the playground.'  
'Can you blame 'em? When I was their age I would've been bored stiff staring at animals in cages.'  
Bobby smiled. 'Yeah, me too.'  
Ellen used a plastic knife to cut Charlie's burger into chunks. 'You were probably like those two.' She nodded toward the playground. 'More interested in running around making noise and getting into trouble.'  
John squinted against the sunlight dappling the picnic table. He scanned the playground for Dean and Castiel, and his eyes finally landed on them: They were over on the other side where a woman with a name tag and a hat that said 'Sedgwick County Zoo' was handing out chalk to a small swarm of children. Castiel looked delighted and immediately plopped to the ground and started scribbling. Dean settled a few feet away and contentedly joined in. 'That should keep 'em occupied for a while.' John already knew what Dean would be drawing, could see it with his eyes closed. Their house back in Lawrence, as it was remodeled after the fire - the tree in the yard, the bushes out front, and caricatures of John, Dean, Sam, and Mary. It broke John's heart, but it made Dean happy. Dean and Castiel were working toward each other from opposite sides of the pavement, drawing in sync with endearing focus.  
'How has Dean been, actually?' There was a deep concern underneath Bobby's neutral tone.  
John thought for a moment. 'He's been good, Bobby, real good. Ever since he started talking again he won't stop. He's a regular chatty Kathy. It helps that he has friends his age in the neighborhood, I think.'  
'Thank God for that,' Ellen chipped in.  
The sunlight sprinkled the picnic table, children's laughter rang out around them, and the air smelled like food, animals, grass, summer. John let himself relax into the warmth of the day. He could feel today as if it was a memory already - golden, beautiful, a little blurry at the edges. His boys were happy. His friends were with him. At times like this, he could almost hear Mary's voice again. The next hour or so passed like this. The adults relaxed as much as they could while keeping an eye on the kids, occasionally striding over to referee. The kids played together, joined in with groups of other children, and the breeze blew by and kept on going over the flat state of Kansas to who-knew-where. And then it was time to go. Ellen and Bobby fished out the baby wipes and John walked over to Dean and Castiel, who had gone back to their chalk drawings. He stood and watched them for a moment. They were sitting side by side and seemed so engrossed in what they were doing that John didn't want to interrupt. Dean was pointing to the things he'd drawn and explaining them to Castiel.  
'...and that's Sammy, and that's the tree from the front yard, you know the one my dad won't let us climb? And that's my mom the way she used to be.'  
Castiel leaned over Dean's drawing and drank it in. Something caught in John's throat. He walked over and ruffled Dean's hair. 'Almost time to go. Did you guys have fun?' He looked down at their drawings. Dean had drawn their house and family in blocky colors and Castiel had drawn his. The two drawings met in the middle almost perfectly. The line of colored figures resembled a paper doll chain, and Dean and Castiel (complete with scribbled chalk hair and clothes) were at the very center.


	3. Chapter 3

4th of July, 1996

Dean

Dean closed the door behind him as quietly as he could. He did it out of habit even though he knew he didn't have to: Dad had taken off on another job and Sammy was at Jessica's house for the 4th of July BBQ. If Dean hadn't been feeling so apprehensive, he would have smiled about it. Jess' family had practically adopted Sam after last year's Thanksgiving and any fool could see that the two were ass-over-teakettle in puppy love with each other.  
Dean cast a guilty glance at Cas' house. The lights were still all off despite the occasion. Dean guessed that the whole family was at the park to watch the fireworks, which surprised him, given Cas' hatred of crowds and family outings. Then again, Dean thought bitterly, what did he know? Cas might be completely different now. He might be absolutely thrilled at the thought of watching fireworks in the park with his dysfunctional family unit. Little did they know they could've just stayed home. The windows were dark. Dean could see his own pale face reflected back at him in the living room window as he walked down to the street and turned away. He was meeting Crowley and Bela about half a block away just to be sure none of the nearby neighbors saw Bela's license plate, then they were all coming back to Dean's.  
When he reached the meeting place, Crowley and Bela were just pulling up, tailpipe spewing black smoke. If Dean had told her to check the air filter and fuel return line once, he'd told her a thousand times. That was Bela and her posse all over for you though; completely reckless. Simultaneously self-destructive and self-absorbed. It was a kind of statement: if you were the most important thing to yourself, destroying yourself was about as badass as you could be. Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and scowled as they pulled in and got out of the car, slamming the doors.  
'Keep it down,' Dean hissed. 'You want everyone in the neighborhood staring?'  
Crowley smirked. 'Sorry, princess, didn't know your reputation was at stake.'  
Bela laughed and lit a joint. The sickly sweet smell of the weed mingled with tobacco and floated around her like a cloud of perfume. 'Aren't you a sensitive flower tonight. Chickening out, Winchester?' Her voice was barbed. She was furious with Dean and too proud to let him know. He knew, though. He just couldn't bring himself to care.  
Dean felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. 'Never.'  
Crowley clapped him on the back. 'Good. Hate to think of Dean Winchester as a coward. My whole life system would be shattered. Can't have that.'  
Bela unlocked the back and hefted the trunk door up. 'I'm not sure how quickly the fuses will burn, so get out of there sharpish.'  
Dean nodded tersely and hoisted the box in his arms. The three of them started walking back toward Dean's house. Dean kept his eyes on the box as he walked. The quarter sticks of dynamite stared up at him accusingly, their glaring, unapologetic promise of danger somehow made silly by the addition of a number of glittery, highly-colored fireworks.  
Crowley noticed Dean staring and sniggered. 'Can't wait to see just desserts doled out. Snooty writer and his spoiled kids.'  
Dean felt his stomach sink. Cas wasn't spoiled. Cas was...Cas. His Cas. Cas, who had filled Dean's stocking one Christmas and made him believe in magic, if just for a millisecond. His best friend. No, he reminded himself. Cas wasn't his friend. Hadn't the last few months proved that? There was another, smaller voice at the back of Dean's mind that screamed at him for being stupid and stubborn and wrong, but it was drowned out as a few choice memories reared their heads. Anger glittering in Cas' eyes in the dark. Cas storming down the stairs. Cas' hard voice saying 'Because you know that wasn't my idea.' Watching through a crack in his bedroom curtains as Cas disappeared. Pain swept through him like a tidal wave. His anger propelled him the rest of the way.  
They reached Dean's house and walked to his backyard, where Crowley and Bela waited with the box while Dean climbed the fence into Cas' mom's garden. Dean's heart was pounding and his palms were sweaty as he took the box from Bela.  
'Go get 'em, tiger,' she whispered, and stubbed her joint out under her foot, grinding it into Dean's lawn. If looks could kill, Dean thought. Crowley simply stared at Dean expectantly, raising his eyebrows. Dean knew Crowley was waiting for him to wuss out, so he glared at him and turned to walk across Cas' lawn, the box heavy in his arms. For some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about that stupid stocking.


	4. Chapter 4

Christmas Eve, 1991

Sam

The house felt too big to Sam. It was quiet and dark without their dad. When the weak snow-day sun went down and evening stretched over the house, the silence seemed to lengthen and he felt as if he and Dean were stuck, immovable, suspended in amber, waiting for something to come home and take off its leather jacket and make Rice Krispie squares like always.  
'Come on, Sam, we're going out.' Sam jerked up as something heavy landed on his legs. His coat. Dean was shrugging his own on.  
'What? Why?'  
'Because. I can't take any more of your moping. Let's go look around at the lights on the block. There's no point just sitting here waiting.'  
Sam rubbed his coat like he was trying to remove a stain and didn't look at Dean. 'Dad's not coming, is he?'  
'He'll be here, Sammy. Promise.'  
'It's almost Christmas.'  
'He knows. Don't worry, he's gonna make it. Now come on! Let's go.'  
Sam pulled on his coat and followed Dean to the door, where Dean opened the hall closet and fished out boots and mittens. Sam pulled his boots on first, wiggling his toes to straighten out the lining, then pulled his mittens on one at a time, the second with his teeth. Dean opened the door and the freezing quiet of the world rushed inside. The ground was blanketed in white and the world was still and peaceful. Dean tromped out first, his breath making clouds against the darkness and the starry sky. Sam followed and closed the door, listening for the muted clank of the letterbox flapping with the momentum. He kept his head down and watched his boots sink into the snow with each step. He loved the crisp crunching of his footfalls. When he walked through the snow he felt like he was breaking something that was made to be broken, like a piñata or a piggy bank. Dean was waiting for him at the end of the walk and Sam smiled at him. If Dean said it would be alright, it would be.  
'Come on, slowpoke, get the lead out. Which way do you want to go?' Dean lifted his arms. Sam heard the distant sound of caroling coming from one direction, so he pointed.  
'That way.'  
'Alright. Hey, look, Cas' house has those moving reindeer.' Dean pointed at the lawn next door, which was covered in decorations; reindeer, Santa, a sled, even a few elves. 'They really went all out, huh?' Dean looked amused, but Sam felt a little sad. Their own house was so dark next to the gaudy display next door. He was jealous, even if he knew the lit-up Santa was a bit cheesy. 'You okay?' Dean asked, concern in his voice. Sam hated making Dean worry.  
'Yeah. Let's go see the carolers.'  
They didn't say much as they walked down the block, content to let their breath freeze in the night air and listen to the sound of their boots in the snow and the far-off singing voices. The light from the moon, the brightness of the snow, and the winking colored Christmas lights made the night feel less lonely. Dean's face was thoughtful in the glow of it.  
Sam turned away from the brightly lit houses and peered into the darkness under the trees and hedges of the neighborhood. He had once read a story about all the forest animals getting together and decorating a tree with nuts and berries and flowers for Christmas. The illustrations had been beautiful. They had made the world look like a place Sam should appreciate more. He wondered what it would be like to be a small animal in the snowy night. He imagined warm furry bodies snug in burrows.  
When he looked up, Dean was already well ahead and waiting for him. The sound of caroling was louder now, and Sam could see a group of people in coats up ahead. 'Maybe we can get them to sing our cussing version of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, hey Sammy?'  
Sam laughed so suddenly he choked.

When they got home, Dean put Sam to bed. Dean looked distracted but Sam could tell he wasn't mad because he even tucked Sam in, which he hardly ever did.  
'Sleep tight, Sammy. Dad will be here before you know it.'  
Sam didn't really think so, but sleep descended on him quickly.  
Later, he woke up again, groggy. He could tell it was later because the light from the window looked different. What had woken him? His eyes fluttered closed and he was almost asleep again when he heard a noise from outside his room. He tensed, but relaxed when he heard Dean swear quietly. Just before he dozed off again, he could have sworn he heard Cas' voice and another boy's mingling with Dean's.

Cold morning light streamed in through Sam's window. As soon as he opened his eyes, he felt wide awake with excitement. He threw back the covers, barely shivering in the draft, and bounced out of bed. He threw his door open and nearly tripped on a bulging stocking right outside, the one his mom had made him with his name stitched on the front. Sam's first thought was that Dad must have come home in the night. He raced to his dad's room, where he was brought up short by an empty, made bed. His brow furrowed in confusion. Maybe dad left again early this morning. That sometimes happened, but he usually came in and woke Sam up with a whiskery (often-boozy) kiss on the forehead. Sam shrugged and ran to Dean's room, narrowly avoiding crushing Dean's stocking. He burst through the door and launched himself at Dean's bed.  
'AUGH!'  
'Wake up! Merry Christmas!'  
'You're crazy.' Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes. Sam could see him struggling not to be grumpy, and because it was Christmas morning and Sam was hyper, that seemed pretty funny. 'Merry Christmas, Sammy.'  
'Dad came home last night, Dean! He brought all this stuff. Your stocking is there.' Dean raised his eyebrows at that and cast a swift glance at his door. 'He's gone again already though.'  
Dean was silent for a moment. 'Yeah, I know. He tried to wake you up.'  
Sam remembered waking up. 'I did wake up. But I just heard you say a swear word.'  
Dean laughed. 'Must have been a dream, Sammy, I went to sleep right after you did.'  
They carried their stockings to the living room together, and Sam gasped. 'Wow, Dad!' Their fake tree was out from the attic, up in the middle of the room, covered with lights and their usual homemade decorations (the tissue paper angel Dean had made in third grade, the small macaroni frame that Sam had smothered with Elmer's glue and glitter, the paper chain they had made together last year out of construction paper). Crepe paper hung from the window frames and there were snow globes on the mantelpiece next to the photo of them all at the zoo. A small pile of presents was half-hidden under the tree's lower branches. Dean yawned and lay his stocking carefully on the couch.  
'You get started on the presents, okay? I'm going to pour us some cereal.'  
'I'll wait for you.' Sam walked around the tree looking for the switch on the Christmas lights while Dean went to the kitchen. Sam heard a knock on the door, and Dean shouted, 'I got it.' Sam found the switch and turned the lights on, then stood back to admire their tree. He heard the door open, Cas' voice, and then fragments of a quiet conversation.  
'...he see it?'  
'Yeah. He thinks...home. Didn't want to.... Did you...my stocking?' Silence. 'Cas...didn't have to.'  
'I brought some.... Could I...? It's Anna. ...parents.'  
'Sure. Thanks, Cas. ...without you and Benny. ...breakfast?'  
Their voices were low, so Sam pretended he didn't hear, and when Cas called out a loud, 'Merry Christmas!' Sam stuck his head around the door. Dean went back to the kitchen with his arms full of plastic containers and brightly-packaged food.  
'Hi, Cas! Merry Christmas! What's all that?'  
Cas handed Sam a tin of Christmas cookies, some chocolate oranges, and a bag of powdery mints. 'I brought some Christmas-y food over. We had way too much. I thought maybe I could spend today with you guys, if that's okay.'  
Sam gave Cas a hug. 'Yeah, Cas. Is Anna coming too?'  
A shadow crossed Cas' face. 'Not today, Sam.'  
Sam wasn't surprised. Anna rarely hung out with them anymore. When they were younger she had spent a lot of time with them. Even if she was a girl and did things differently, she was very nice and Sam liked her a lot. She was soft-spoken and she never let anyone kill spiders, preferring to capture them in cups and take them outside, for which Sam was secretly glad. Lately, though, Sam noticed that she said strange things sometimes and that it made people uncomfortable. He didn't want Cas to be upset, so he didn't ask why.  
'Want to share my stocking?'  
Sam was rewarded with a rare Cas-style smile; brief, wide, genuine. 'No, it's for you! What did you get in it?'  
And with that, Sam pulled Cas into the living room. By the time Dean came back in with cereal, bowls, milk, and spoons, Sam had opened the tin of cookies and he and Cas were sorting the presents by name. The shadow was almost gone from Cas' face.  
'That's your pile, Dean!'  
The presents were ripped open (they were a bit strange and Dean wouldn't show Sam what was in his stocking, but Sam was glad to have new things to play with) and Sam finished his cereal. As he took his bowl to the kitchen, he saw Dean elbow Cas and say, 'Thanks for all this, Cas. And for last night. This is fun.'  
Cas smiled again (Two in one day! Sam was amazed.) and said, 'Merry Christmas, Dean.'  
Sam went upstairs to his room, wondering what Dean meant, leaving Dean and Cas to fold origami animals out of the wrapping paper and laugh at each other's failed attempts. He moved his books aside on the bookshelf and reached to the back. His fingers brushed the smooth paper and he fished out Dean's present. Uncle Bobby had given Sam this amulet a few months ago and told him it was really special, so Sam wanted Dean to have it.


	5. Chapter 5

1991

Dean

From his room, Dean heard the car pull up in the driveway. The growl of the engine was unmistakable. For no discernible reason, he thought of the circle of spruce trees in the park down the block, a space where sounds were muted and the air smelled like autumn all the time. He considered going back to sleep, wrapping the quilt and his own body heat around himself and nodding off to the sounds of his dad getting settled. He felt unresolved, though, and he knew he needed to see his dad in person.  
He followed his usual route down the stairs, avoided the creaky spots, stepped gingerly from step to step. He noted the signs of his father's homecoming; the huge leather jacket draped over the coat rack, the boots kicked off at the mat, the kitchen light on. Dean felt very small and distant all of a sudden, as if he had wandered into a stranger's house by accident and was staring around at all the personal debris carried in and deposited on the tides of someone else's life. Then his dad's chair scraped back, his familiar footsteps sounded in the next room, and Dean snapped out of it.  
He walked into the kitchen to see John Winchester sighing and looking through the cupboards. His dad turned, saw Dean in the doorway, and crossed the room to give him a tight hug. 'Dean.'  
'Hi, dad. There're leftovers in the fridge.'  
'Thanks, son.' John clasped Dean's shoulder briefly. 'It's good to be home. How's Sammy? Asleep?'  
Dean shrugged. 'He's alright. He's upset about Christmas. He doesn't understand that you have to leave.'  
John sighed again - a defeated sound. 'I know. I'm sorry about Christmas. You understand, don't you? This job's all I got.'  
Dean nodded. When Dean got older, he'd look back on this moment and wonder why he'd thought he understood. He'd known that his dad's job was what kept food on the table, known that it had to be done. But he'd missed the undertone to his dad's question, the lines between the lines, that hands-out palms-up begging for absolution. In the future, Dean wouldn't blame his dad. He probably would've wanted to avoid the house just as much as his dad did if their places were reversed.  
'Hey, I got you boys presents. A little late, I know.' John reached into the bag resting on one of the chairs and pulled out two packages wrapped in green and red paper. He handed one to Dean, who unpicked the taped edges. It was a set of strangely-shaped magnetic toys. A bit young for him, which gave Dean a pang in his chest, but it was the thought that counted. Dean did used to enjoy these kinds of building-block toys.  
'Thanks, dad. I love it.'  
John smiled and started pulling containers out from the fridge. 'Dean, where did all this food come from? There's practically an entire Christmas dinner in here.'  
'Cas brought it over.'  
John looked torn. 'Glad you two got dinner, but this family is not a charity case.'  
'No sir. Cas brought it over because he wanted to spend Christmas with us.'  
John's expression went from torn to confused. 'Why - ?' He cut himself off. Dean thought maybe he didn't want to pry. Which was good, because Dean didn't want to talk to his dad about Cas' family. Cas was pretty private about that stuff. He rarely talked to Dean about his sister's bad days, he only did when things were too hard for him to handle by himself and he needed Dean to cheer him up. Dean waited. 'Never mind,' John said. 'I'll thank them tomorrow. You get some sleep, Dean.'  
Dean walked back to his room on tiptoe, trying not to wake Sammy. When he got there he stared at the gift his dad had brought him. He felt bad. He felt something toxic creeping up inside him, refusing to dissipate. The gift made him sad, he couldn't help it, and the sadness welled up, all the more volatile and bittersweet for being streaked through with guilt. Dean shouldn't feel sad, he should feel grateful. His dad was home, he and Sam would be taken care of, and his dad had brought them Christmas presents. All Dean could see was his nine-year-old self excitedly dumping the toys out of the box and inviting Cas and Benny over to build things. It was like watching an old home video of someone who had died. Dean put the box in his closet and climbed out onto the roof with a blanket where his strange sickly feelings could get some air. The snow had mostly collected in the gutters, so Dean was able to find a dry patch of shingle to sit on. He wrapped the blanket around himself and stared at the sky. His stargazing was interrupted when the light in Cas's room turned on. Dean's favorite part of living next door to his best friend was how the windows in their rooms faced each other. Dean loved miming at Cas through the window, or raising his voice to call to his friend when his window was open. Cas was staring out at him, tousle-haired, like he had just rolled out of bed. Dean sniggered at Cas' disheveled appearance and waved.  
_You okay?_ Cas mouthed at him.  
_Fine._ Dean mouthed back, and pointed to the driveway. _Dad's home._  
Cas cocked his head and mouthed something Dean didn't get. Dean wrinkled his brow. _What?_  
Cas turned away from the window for a moment and came back with his sketchbook and a marker. _You don't look happy about it._  
Dean was taken aback. Was he happy about it? He was glad to see his dad, but underneath that he just felt kind of empty and sad. _Guess not._ The slanderous words remained unsaid, though not unshaped.  
_What's wrong?_  
Dean shrugged. _Don't know._ He thought for a moment, then pointed at Cas. _You. Awake. Why?_  
_Can't sleep._  
Dean frowned sympathetically. _Why not?_  
_Don't know either._  
_Sucks._  
Cas looked down to scribble in his sketchbook. Dean shivered. The cold had seeped into his blanket and his skin felt the chill. Cas held up his sketchbook page. _We should learn Morse code and talk with flashlights or something._ Dean flashed him a thumbs-up, then stood, pointed to his open window, and waved to Cas. Cas waved back and turned off his light.


	6. Chapter 6

1991

Sam

Sam was woken at night by faint flashing lights. The first night it happened, he was confused. Flashes of yellow light spattered his walls. The light wasn't very bright, but then it was answered by a light flashing into Sam's eyes from next door. Must be Cas' room, Sam thought. Bewildered, he looked out the window. His breath fogged up the glass, but he could just see Dean's window lighting up through the mist. If he craned, he could see Dean's face out of the corner of his eye. Sam couldn't see Dean properly but no one could mistake the air of happiness around him.  
It clicked. Sam had seen the book about Morse code on Dean's bedside table. Sam smiled, imagining his brother as a spy or a secret agent. It dawned on him that his brother had thoughts that he didn't share with Sam, that he had important things to say (or that he couldn't say, at least out loud). Sam wondered what the world looked like to Dean, and for the first time realized that although he and Dean had the same experiences, for the most part, they lived different lives. He never imagined Dean seeing things in the world that Sam didn't see, thinking things that he didn't say out loud, having reactions that were different from Sam's. Sam didn't think all of this in words, didn't even really identify it, it all just swept over him as a feeling of wonder and he felt as if his eyes had been opened. He saw Dean, really saw him. Dean looked happy, so Sam went back to his bed, floating on the strange realization and feeling surreal.  
All through the winter of that year and into the early spring, the flashlight beams woke Sam up. At first it was strange, invasive, and interesting, but soon it became comforting. His brother and his friend lit up the night sky, flung their hearts into the dark chasm of nighttime, cast their thoughts into each others' windows like fishing lines baited with hope. Sam would stare sleepily at the lights and shadows making shapes on his walls and fall asleep to the silent sound of Dean mattering to someone. Sam didn't know Morse code but he thought he understood all the same.


	7. Chapter 7

1991-1992

Dean

Dean and Cas learned Morse code after the salvaged Christmas. Dean needed to keep his mind occupied. Yeah, he knew it was dorky, but Cas was so excited about it. And really, he eventually thought, it was kinda cool knowing a secret language that no one else around them did. It took forever to get a message across but that just meant that they never wasted words. Learning Morse code with Cas showed Dean how to cut out everything unnecessary and boil it down to what he really meant. Clear. Simple. Concentrated.  
They used to sit in the grove of spruce trees in the crisp cold air, wrapped in their coats, booklet of dots and dashes open in front of them. Benny sometimes joined them, but he always got bored and wandered off to try to skateboard with Michael and Gabriel and the older kids. The skate park and the playground were only about 20 feet away, so Dean was able to keep an eye on Sammy while he and Cas tapped out letters and tried to memorize them. From then on, just the word 'code' made Dean recall the fragrance of spruce mingled with the metallic smell of freezing air and the sight of Cas' thin fingers tapping the ground.  
It took them a while to remember all the letters and even then Dean taped a cheat sheet to his wall, beside the window, so he could look at it while blinking his flashlight at Cas in the middle of the night. Up until the spring of 1992 they never got much sleep. They were too busy talking, for lack of a better word. It was liberating to say things without saying them. It made Dean feel like there would never be any consequences, like the things he was telling Cas didn't count as real. Even so, he was glad Cas knew them. They told one another about dreams they'd had, about private thoughts that they didn't feel they could tell anyone else, about their fears. Cas talked about Anna a lot, and about how she stopped making sense and fought with their parents all the time now. He was losing her, Dean understood, she was starting to move from Cas' world into one of her own. Dean told Cas about the loneliness he felt when his dad was gone, about how his responsibility for Sammy sometimes felt like a huge stone dragging him down, and his guilt for feeling all of that. They told each other dirty jokes, they called each other names, and they pretended they were lighthouses. That made Dean so dizzy he fell over, which resulted in Cas laughing so hard he dropped his flashlight and cracked it. From that night on, Cas' light was not a perfect rounded beam, but a shattered, blinding pulse. Dean thought it was very uniquely Cas. It was only a few days after that that it all stopped.  
They were in the middle of signaling as they usually did when several things happened at once. Dean was focusing on writing down the letters that Cas was sending (W-H-A-T-D-O-Y-O-U-G) when Cas jumped up. The suddenness made Dean flinch. Cas' door flew open and Dean saw a flurry of red hair as Anna closed it quickly and leaned against it. Her mouth was moving, her eyes were fixed on Castiel. Cas pressed his back against the window, the wrinkles and shapes of his clothes becoming two-dimensional on the glass. Dean could see him shaking his head. No. Cas reached over to turn on his light and Dean heard, faintly, through glass, someone pounding on Cas' bedroom door. Light spilled from the lamp and flooded the room, seeped out the window, made Dean squint. Anna flung herself onto Cas' bed with her hands over her ears and Cas crossed to her, touched her shoulder. Dean saw that his eyes were wide and scared. Cas moved to pull Anna's hands away from her ears but she shoved him, hard, sent him sprawling back against the window. Dean heard the thump and winced again. Dean was frozen, watching Cas' parents get through the door. He saw Cas move again. He looked. Cas was facing him. Cas shook his head, mouthed something – no or sorry – was Cas even looking at him? - and twitched the curtains closed.  
Dean stood staring at the back-lit curtains, his heart pounding, his tongue thick in his dry mouth. He tried to swallow. His limbs felt stiff with terror. He tingled all over with sudden fear, but he could do nothing except watch the dark shapes move behind the curtain. There was a flurry, there was motion, there were fewer shadows, there was nothing. Dean saw Cas' outline for a single, stretched, infinite moment before the room went dark. Dean flashed a single word (-.-. .- ...) hoping that the light would penetrate the curtain. But there was no answer. Only stillness and the dark.


	8. Chapter 8

1993

Sam

Anna's absence changed everything. Cas said she had to go to a hospital because she was sick. Sam knew what that meant: The kids at Sam's school said Anna was a loony and had to be locked up. It made Sam's stomach twist to think of her in a hospital and when people twirled their fingers by their temples he felt angrier than he could ever remember feeling. After Dean gave Gordon Walker a black eye at the middle school for calling her a psycho the word spread to the elementary school and most kids stopped making fun of her. That was one benefit of having the elementary school, the middle school, and the high school all next to one another in a huge long strip, on top of being able to share sports fields. Every time Cas went to visit Anna Sam hoped to hear news but Cas always returned pale and tight-lipped. He didn't talk about it. Sam noticed that each visit Cas made was followed by several days of uncharacteristic quietness.  
Sam would walk by Dean's room after school only to see Cas and Dean sitting in silence – Dean struggling with homework or playing a video game while Cas zoned out with his nose in a book or a pencil in his hand. Sam's Accelerated Reader buddy, Jess, asked if Cas lived with them. Sam laughed and told her that no, he was their next-door neighbor, but it made him think. Cas was over a lot. He hung out with Dean, he helped cook, he ate dinner with them, and he slept over at least a few nights a week, unless dad was home. Benny was over too, sure, but Cas soaked into their daily life like he had always been there which, Sam realized, he pretty much had.  
Cas' presence had the added bonus of softening Dean's rough edges. When their dad would go on one of his long-haul trips, Dean would stop smiling. He'd become tense and his sense of humor would dry up into something more biting and sarcastic. Sam worried when Dean bristled. He clung to the house, keeping his distance from Dean but not willing to let him out of sight, just in case. Having Cas around as a buffer took the edge off. It was as if he filled a gap in their family, a gap that Dean constantly tried to patch up. Castiel could spend a day dealing with Dean's insecure prickliness and remain completely unruffled, could even manage to look at Dean with something halfway between exasperation and fondness. Even then, it was hard for Sam when John wasn't there. As soon as their dad would pull up in the driveway, Dean would relax into silliness and start goofing off again. Sam's favorite part of dad being home was the feeling of freedom that came with the change in Dean's mood.  
As soon as their dad would get home, Sam's mind would feel lighter and he'd run out of the house to play crocodile in the long grass by the park with Jess and the rest of them. On one particular day the sun was bright, the air was crisp, and Sam was the crocodile. He loved the feeling of the long grass brushing against him. He felt like an explorer, like the grass became some untouched jungle that existed for him to discover. He never felt alone; he could always hear the shouts and laughter of his friends. He stood stock still and closed his eyes, listening. Birdsong. Children playing in the distance. Wind through the grass. There, to his left, a rustle. He smiled, opened his eyes, and plunged in. Whoever it was shrieked in surprise and took off running. Before they could take more than five steps, Sam had his arms around them and got a faceful of curly blonde hair that smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. Jessica started laughing, then lost her footing and fell. Sam, tangled around her, followed. Becky and Zach came crashing over.  
'Who's It? Who got caught?'  
'Sam rugby tackled me,' Jess teased, and used Sam's shoulder to stand up.  
Sam flushed. 'Sorry, Jess.'  
'Aw, Sam, I'm only kidding.'  
'Come on, let's get back to the stump. I still think we should get forty seconds for a head start.'  
Sam got to his feet, still smiling, and watched them all traipsing through the grass, Jess' hair the color of honey in the low sun.


	9. Chapter 9

4th of July, 1996

Dean

Dean crouched in the garden with the box and tried to plan a route through the flowering plants that would hide him most efficiently from the neighbours. He wasn't worried about being caught, not really. He knew that most of the neighbourhood was out celebrating. Leaves brushed his face and clothes until he reached the lawn. He stepped out into open space and a bright light from the kitchen washed over him. He froze, heart pounding in his chest. He ran over about a dozen excuses in his mind and waited for someone to call him out. No one did. Slowly, very slowly, he looked around. Shit. Someone was home. And they had been sitting in the dark this whole time? Dean raised an eyebrow and stepped backward behind a huge butterfly plant. He peered out between the flower spikes and long leaves and watched as Cas walked into the kitchen in his favourite comfy pjs and reached up to get a bowl from the shelf. Dean hated how his breath hitched when Cas' shirt pulled up and exposed a strip of pale skin.

'What are you waiting for?' Crowley hissed, and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin.

He glared over and gestured for Crowley to zip it.

'He can't hear a damn thing,' Crowley whispered.

Dean flipped him off and continued, this time keeping close to the fence. At the darkest corner, Dean looked back at Cas. He was sitting slouched at the table with a book propped up against a giant bowl of cereal. Dean watched as Cas dipped his spoon down and held it up, dripping milk, while he finished a sentence. Only then did he eat it. Dean fought the urge to smile. Cas was always a huge klutz when he had his nose in a book. He was inclined to read and walk at the same time, which meant a lot of tripping and banging into poles. Dean used to make fun of him for it, telling him that if he paid attention to girls that way it wouldn't have been poles he was always banging, if he knew what Dean meant. Wink wink. Cas would always just hit Dean without looking up from whatever he was reading.

Movement caught his eye. Anna strolled into the kitchen and slung an arm around Cas' shoulders, stole a bit of his cereal. Cas smiled up at her as she said something. Dean was surprised by how normal she looked. She had bluish bags under her eyes, sure, but who wouldn't after what she'd been through? Aside from that, she looked healthy, happy, and pink-cheeked. Dean wondered what she was saying. He imagined long strings of gibberish. In his mind, Cas smiled placidly at her garbled worlds, nodded calmly as her nonsense slid around the bright, clean kitchen. After all, Dean thought, weren't all words just random sounds? What made his speech, anyone's speech, different from an assortment of weird animal noises? Dean saw his reflection in the darkened windows of Cas' shed, then he glanced back to Crowley and Bela, not-so-distant dark smudges. For some reason, he thought of Benny. Benny would never let Dean do this. If he was here, he'd give Dean that look of his. He wouldn't even need to try to talk Dean out of it, he'd just tell Dean what Dean already knew: He couldn't do this to Cas. It wasn't in him. But Benny'd been keeping his distance since Dean had started hanging out with Bela, Crowley, Meg, and their crowd. Dean didn't blame him. Dean wasn't the same person he was before. And Cas wasn't either. Dean hardened. He didn't want to lose face. And besides, didn't Cas deserve it?


	10. Chapter 10

1995

Sam

Sam didn't know where Dean was. All he knew was that Dean had gone out to get food a few hours ago and he still wasn't back. Sam didn't panic, despite the worry writhing beneath his skin. He knew what to do. He picked up the phone and dialed the number his dad had taped next to the phone. His dad answered and his voice crackled across the distance.  
'Sammy?'  
'Hi Dad. Dean left hours ago and he's still not back.'  
'I know, son.' Sam could tell from the tone that his jaw was clenched. 'I'm on my way home. I'll be back by ten. If there's nothing to eat, I want you to go over next door and ask if you can stay until I get there. You understand?'  
'Yes sir.'  
'Good boy. I'll be back soon.' He hung up.  
Sam put the phone back down and walked into the kitchen. He found a can of soup and emptied it into a bowl, put it in the microwave.

When John got home, he barely spoke except to tell Sam to pack his suitcase. Sam watched the muscle in his dad's jaw twitch as they folded clothes and put Sam's toothbrush into a plastic bag. Fury radiated from John like a noxious cloud. Sam was too awed to say anything into the thrumming silence, so it lay between them for the whole drive. Sam didn't remember nodding off, but he must have.  
He woke to the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires. Blearily, he wiped his eyes and looked around. They were at Uncle Bobby's and Aunt Ellen's. The windows downstairs were bright and welcoming despite the hour.  
John finally broke the silence. 'C'mon, Sammy. You're going to stay with your Uncle Bobby for a little while until I can get this mess straightened out.' He must've seen something in Sam's no-longer-sleepy expression because his voice softened as he added, 'Dean's okay. And this will all blow over soon. I promise.'  
Uncle Bobby opened the front door and walked out into the headlights. Sam watched him approach, light settling into a halo around him. A million questions swirled and sparked in his head, but he could only manage to ask one out loud. 'How soon?'  
John sighed. 'Not long, son. I'll be back before you know it.' He opened the door. Sam's throat tightened.

It was long. Though it was only eight weeks, it seemed endless. Sam loved Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen and Jo but he missed home. He missed Dean, he missed his friends, he even missed his school. After the first few days, filled with phone calls and letters and unpacking, he got to go to school with Jo and Charlie for the tail-end of the school year. They spent all their time together; doing homework, watching movies, playing in the junkyard when Aunt Ellen wasn't there to scold them for it. Sam loved sitting in the old cars, the smell of leather and metal, the dusty air, the cracked windows. He, Jo, and Charlie would clamber all over the cars like they were a jungle gym until they got tired and would sit in one of the less-dilapidated cars to play cat's cradle or fold fortune tellers.  
Sam wasn't unhappy, but he wasn't happy, either. He felt caught in between, as if he were trapped in a waiting room (albeit a really homey and familiar one). Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen were extra nice to him and asked him about Dean a lot. Some evenings his dad would call and Sam would tell him about teachers, schoolwork, the soccer team he had joined. John asked questions but rarely gave Sam any information except to say that Dean was fine and that he'd come and get Sam soon. Sam felt the hopeful optimistic part of himself shrink every time, as soon as he handed the phone over to Uncle Bobby.  
Bobby would leave the room and close the door, but sometimes Sam could still hear what he said. The volume of his voice dipped up and down like he was trying not to shout.  
'What do you mean, _learn his lesson_?! Jesus, John, he's 16 years old and his brother was hungry! What'd you expect if you leave them to fend for themselves?' And, sometimes, more often than Sam liked to think about, 'Are you _drunk_?'

When dad eventually came to get Sam, everyone was sad to see him go. They gave him a lot of food in containers and big hugs.  
'We'll see you and your brother soon, I'm sure.' Aunt Ellen smiled and patted Sam's cheek. Jo nearly cracked Sam's ribs with a bear hug.  
Uncle Bobby was the last person Sam said goodbye to. He leaned over and smothered Sam in a huge whiskery embrace. Sam squeezed and hung on for a long moment before Uncle Bobby stepped back and handed Sam a slip of paper.  
'That's our number. You tell your brother we love him, and you tell him to call me if he's ever in troub- if he ever needs anything. Same goes for you, alright?' Uncle Bobby stared at Sam searchingly.  
Sam understood. 'Okay, Uncle Bobby. Thanks.'

Dean was different for a while after that. He didn't smile as much and he treated their dad differently. Sam couldn't put his finger on what it was, didn't think his dad even noticed, but Sam saw Dean's air of joyful admiration become thinner and wispier until it disappeared entirely. Dean still obeyed and did as John asked, but he was watchful where he had once been trusting, hesitant where he had once been enthusiastic. Dean used to treat their dad with respect bordering on reverence and while he was still respectful, he now kept his distance. When their dad left for his next job, Cas stayed over every night for a week. Sam fell asleep to their low voices like he had fallen asleep to their blinking flashlights.


	11. Chapter 11

1995

Dean

Take all the students out of a school, Dean thought, looking out the window, and you get an entirely new place – the emptiness feels welcoming and intimate, the silence seems magical, everything looks different. The classroom he and Benny sat in was filled with slanting butter-yellow light, looking completely different in the late afternoon glow from how it usually did in the chill light of morning. He could almost see into the middle school windows from here.  
'Dean? Are you hearing me?'  
'Huh?'  
'Sleeping on the job, brother?'  
Dean would never admit to liking the way Benny called him 'brother.' He shook his head. 'No. Of course not. You just said...something about a book report. Wait, a book report? Seriously? I thought we got over those in middle school.'  
Benny laughed. 'Yeah, I know. But the old bag keeps going on about wanting to know our real thoughts about the characters, not just, and I quote, “the same old recycled drivel.” She said anyone can pass a pop quiz with the faintest idea of what the book is about, but a book report forces you to think.'  
Dean groaned. 'I hate thinking.'  
Benny rapped the desk with his knuckles. 'Yeah, don't we all. It ain't that bad, just ramble on about personal development and how the arc of the character makes the difference between a tragedy or a comedy.'  
Dean raised his eyebrows. 'You swallow an encyclopedia or something?'  
'Hey, believe it or not, I actually like this stuff.'  
'Masochist.' Dean ran his hand through his hair and scribbled out _character arc = trag / comedy_. 'Thanks for helping me with all this stuff, Benny.'  
'No worries, brother. It's good to have you back.' The smile he gave Dean was genuine. His eyes crinkled.  
'Alright, hit me with some chemistry.'  
Dean didn't mind the mad scramble to catch up before the school year started. The high school buildings were open for summer school, so Dean and Benny came in to try to bring Dean up to speed. He had gone to school when he was at Sonny's, so it wasn't like he was that far behind anyway. He liked the way readjusting to school and life back in Lawrence gave him something to focus on. Underneath it all, though, he felt confused. He knew he should be glad to be back home, but instead he just felt like a bombed-out city. Everything in him was on fire, screaming, collapsing around his ears. Some days he could hardly hear for the sounds of crashing timbers and tearing metal. He knew he deserved it. He'd messed up. He had lost their money in a stupid gamble, had tried to shoplift some food, and he had been caught.  
So yeah, he deserved to be left at Sonny's for two months. The thing was, being ripped away from Sonny's was somehow worse. He missed the big man himself, the solid presence of an adult in the house. He missed the wrestling team he had been so proud of, he even missed his rickety bed in the dorm. He missed Robin. He thought of her all the time; her laugh, her skin, how it felt to kiss her. Like belonging, like sweetness, like floating in zero gravity. But more than any of that he missed being seen by someone, really seen. His heart was broken.  
His heart was a wreck of broken compasses, flood damage, and derailed trains, and he couldn't talk to anyone about it except Cas and Benny. Benny listened to Dean without judgement. He never told Dean to cheer up or stop griping, he just let Dean be confused and upset, and Dean was incredibly grateful. Benny knew what it was like to have two half-lived lives and to have to pick up the strings of one when you lost the other. His family had moved to Lawrence from Louisiana when he was too old to belong but too young to forge his own life. In a way, Benny was in limbo right along with Dean.  
But while Benny understood Dean's confusion, only Cas really understood Dean's loneliness. Dean's life at Sonny's was so remote and distant from Dean's life with Sam and their dad that the two parts of Dean might as well have been on separate planets. Dean felt as isolated from his family as Cas felt from his. Anna, after a brief time at home, was in Larned State again, Gabriel was busy preparing to leave for college, and Cas had never been that close to Michael.  
Cas and Dean both felt the same way about their parents, even though they didn't speak about it. Realizing that parents are ordinary humans who make mistakes and break promises was a cold shock, like waking up in the middle of the night to a loud noise or missing a step in the dark. It might have been because of this that Dean found himself clinging to Cas like a lifeline. They took the broken parts of themselves that didn't fit into their respective families and tried to glue them together into something else.

'You started what?' Cas' voice was shocked.  
'Wrestling. And playing guitar. Acoustic.' Dean felt himself flushing. With Robin, learning the guitar had seemed cool; artistic but still manly. He could serenade maidens as well as swing the dusty guitar case onto his back and drive off into the sunset. But here, in the dark living room, surrounded by his life with his dad, he heard a faint whisper: _Stupid._ He ignored it.  
'Did you like it?'  
Dean knew Cas wouldn't judge him. 'Yeah. I did. Even though I sounded more like a kids show than a Led Zep tour.'  
Cas wriggled down into his sleeping bag on the couch. The muted TV cast bluish shadows on his face. 'You know, I think Gabe has an old guitar in his room.'  
'Gabe? Seriously? I didn't know he played.'  
Cas scoffed. 'He doesn't. He bought it as a lark, he thought it would make him look more like a Don Juan. I think he can play a G chord and that's it. He's not the musical one, Anna - ' Cas cleared his throat. 'Anyway, he's going off to college soon, so no one is going to – you know. Do you want it? I could bring it over.'  
'God yes! If you're sure it's okay?'  
'I'm sure.'  
'How is Anna?'  
Cas' face fell. He chewed his lower lip. 'She's alright. She still hears voices but I think she's stopped believing they're angels. She keeps talking about the end of the world. She says she dreams about it all the time. Last time we visited she said, “Cas, what would you do if you were going to die tomorrow?”'  
'What _would_ you do?'  
Cas paused. 'I would eat an entire cake.' Dean laughed. 'And then I would puke it up and eat another one.'  
'Aw, dude, gross.'  
'Well, what would _you_ do?'  
'Probably the same, but with pie.'  
'Of course.' Cas paused. 'I drew her. Anna. Want to see?'  
Dean felt a thrill of curiosity. Cas brought his sketchbook everywhere. It was a permanent fixture like Cas' stupid baggy coat or his perpetually-messy hair. Despite that, Dean had never seen any of it. 'Yeah. I do.'  
Cas unzipped his sleeping bag and padded over to where his sketchbook lay on top of his shoes in the hall. He came back shivering and dove into the synthetic fabric, then shuffled through to find the right page. He handed it to Dean, who took it with a sense of awe.  
There was Anna. It was unmistakably her, in charcoal. Her hair was longer, she was thinner, and her eyes had bags underneath, but the swells and curves of her face came alive on the page. It looked like she might blink or speak at any moment. 'She looks happy.'  
'It was a good day.'  
Dean looked up. 'I didn't know you could draw like this, Cas.'  
Cas squirmed. 'Yeah.'  
'It's amazing.' Dean wanted to flip through the sketchbook, but when he moved to turn a page Cas' hand twitched like he wanted to grab it, so Dean simply handed it back to him and asked, 'Do you want to watch a scary movie?' It was a dare and he knew Cas knew it.  
Cas' jaw jutted out stubbornly. 'Do your worst.'  
Cas fell asleep in the bluish glow to exaggerated screams and grotesque squelching on a low volume. Dean smiled as he listened to Cas' steady breathing. He found his own breaths slowing to match and eventually sleep rolled over him.

Soon after that, during one of John's rare weeks at home, Cas commandeered Dean to help him clear out the garden shed in his backyard and move in all his art supplies and a big wooden desk. Dean spent more time playing around with all Cas' brushes and paints and strange thin tools than he did helping, but Cas didn't mind. When they finished, Cas sat down at the desk and ran his hands over the smooth surface. 'I should break the place in.'  
Dean struck a ridiculous pose. 'Make me look beautiful, Francois.'  
Cas burst out laughing. It was a rare event. Dean savored the sound and hoarded the vision of Cas' happiness. 'Francois?' Cas asked.  
'The name of an _artiste_. All you need now is a baguette and one of those flat hats.'  
'A beret?'  
'Yes.' Dean snapped his fingers. 'That.'  
'Stop messing around and pose.'  
'Really?'  
'Yes. If you can sit STILL for long enough.'  
Dean put on a hugely offended expression and sat down, slouching in the chair. Cas smirked and began sketching with a pencil.  
'I always said my good looks would be my making. How long do I have to sit still now?'  
'Shh. Stop moving.'  
Dean did his best to relax. He watched Cas' face soften. After about 15 minutes Dean was zoning out, not really paying attention, so he almost didn't hear Cas say, 'I humored her all the time. When she first started talking about it? I shouldn't have. I should have – I don't know.' His voice was distant.  
'It wasn't your fault, Cas. There was nothing you could've done.' Dean knew it was trite, but what else could he say? He tried to hammer home the truth of it in the stare he gave Cas. Cas' eyes were wide open and trusting, taking Dean in without a filter as they always did. Dean didn't think he had ever noticed before just how blue Cas' eyes were. They were like lightning, fire, electricity. Dean had read somewhere that blue and green in the eye were caused by an absence of pigment and that the scattering of light was what created the illusion of color. There wasn't any blue, just light pouring through holes in the iris. Empty spaces patched up with something beautiful. Dean couldn't look away.

That night he couldn't sleep. His dad's snoring from the other room, usually so comforting, now kept him awake. His sheets were too wrinkled, his blanket too heavy, the pillow too flat. He thrashed around trying to get comfortable, trying to empty his mind. He wished Cas were staying over like he did most nights. It was easier for Dean to sleep with the lullaby of Cas' breathing and the occasional soft sound as Cas turned over in his sleeping bag. He wanted to fall asleep in the living room like he usually did when Cas was over. He wanted Cas near him. He wanted the sound of Cas' voice. He wanted to be able to lean over against Cas. The thought shocked him. He and Cas touched all the time, but it was mostly horsing around. Surprised with himself, he thought about touching Cas. Imagined how it would feel. Imagined Cas resting his head on Dean's shoulder, unruly black hair against Dean's neck. He felt wide awake, his brain jittery with mindless, senseless energy. What was he thinking? Cas was his best friend. Dean's imagination was pushing boundaries, and Dean, uneasy, wished it would shut up and let him sleep.

School began again, and Dean didn't founder as expected. Benny's help had paid off. After the first week the three of them - Dean, Cas, and Benny - fell into a routine. Dean and Benny emerged from their homeroom and got caught in the stream of students in the hall. They were carried along the hallway to where they met Cas, as usual, whose homeroom was a few doors down from theirs.  
'Castiel Novak.' Benny pointed at Cas. 'Bring me back my copy of _The Lost World_.'  
'I brought it today, it's in my locker.'  
'I cannot believe you both geek out so hard over books. How are we even friends?'  
'You love us,' Benny chuckled and peeled off to go to his first period, turning around and walking backwards for a few steps to call back, 'I'll get it from you at lunch, Cas!'  
The intercom crackled over the din with the morning announcements as Dean and Cas set off for their first class of the day. They were lightheartedly abusing one another for being a bookworm and a caveman respectively when Dean heard something about the wrestling team. The vice principal was congratulating the team on having won a victory against – and here Dean's heart skipped – his team from when he was at Sonny's. Someone bumped into Dean. He was standing frozen in the middle of the hall, blocking everyone. He didn't care about the match, really, but everything he had lost came rushing back in a furious surge: Sonny's smile, the other boys, Robin's laughter, the version of himself that dressed up for a dance. The feeling that someone believed in him.  
He felt Cas' hand on his shoulder leading him out of the way of the rushing students. 'Dean?'  
Dean looked up at Cas and knew he didn't have to say anything. Cas saw it all there in his face. He squeezed Dean's shoulder and the pressure choking Dean lightened somewhat. Cas hugged him and Dean let himself relax into the familiar feeling.  
'Get a room, fags.' A crowd of their classmates walked by, Crowley and Bela in their midst. The one who had spoken (Meg something, Dean thought) looked at them scornfully. Every single one of Dean's muscles tensed. Uncontrollable. Irreversible. Dean knew Cas felt it. Dean was torn between relief and desperately wanting to take it back. Cas dropped his arms. Dean felt awful.  
Bela let out a loud false cough. 'Gay.' Dean flinched. The rest of the group snickered.  
Cas glared at them as they walked on down the hall, his eyes burning. 'Idiots.'  
Dean cleared his throat. He wanted to hit something. 'Come on, we'll be late.' He didn't look at Cas.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K so I know that that time Sam went to that girl's house for Thanksgiving referenced in Dark Side of the Moon took place in 1994, but I had to change the year (and girl) for plot reasons. I like to think that things would've developed differently if Sam and Dean hadn't become hunters and if Sam had grown up knowing Jess.

1995

Sam

Even though John had seemed reluctant about the whole thing, Sam was excited.  
Jess had asked him what he and his family usually did for Thanksgiving and Sam had told her: If their dad wasn't home, he and Dean would get TV dinners and a pumpkin pie from the grocery store and stay up late making prank phone calls and if their dad _was_ home, they all watched football as John drank his way through a six pack or two. The next day, Jess had asked Sam if he wanted to spend Thanksgiving with her family. He had agreed before he even knew what he was saying, and had talked to John about it as soon as he got home.  
John eventually caved under the weight of Sam's enthusiasm, eased along by Sam's willingness to write down Jessica's address and home phone number. When Sam told Dean, Dean smiled and told him to leave enough food for the rest of Jess' family. Knowing Dean's fondness for whatever togetherness could be salvaged for family occasions and holidays, Sam was glad he wasn't upset.  
Any hesitance he might have felt disintegrated when faced with the thought of spending time with Jess. Jess was as sweet as sugar and sharp enough to cut someone. She was the smartest person Sam had ever met, and the funniest. She was a spider-rescuer like Anna. She was a play-fighter like Dean. She loved orange juice, the color blue, and biology. Sam couldn't imagine that anyone could be warmer, more welcoming, or more fascinating than Jessica. Thanksgiving couldn't get there fast enough.


	13. Chapter 13

Thanksgiving, 1995

Dean

Dean was trying not to think about Cas. He was trying not to think about the texture of Cas' hair. He was trying not to think of the freckle just beneath Cas' collarbone. He was trying not to think about Cas' scent – an indefinable hot-skin laundry-detergent musky tangled-hair smell that'd been worn into half of Dean's pillowcases by then. All evening on Thanksgiving, as John drank steadily and the TV filled the house with tinny artificial noise, Dean thought about not thinking about Cas, which just escalated into frustration until John was passed out on the couch and Dean was grinding his teeth and attempting to use laser vision to see through the walls in order to know what Cas was doing.  
Dean sat in the living room in front of the TV with clenched fists. John mumbled something about Mary and tossed in his sleep. That was when Dean finally snapped. He needed open air, needed to turn his skull inside out and scrub it clean. He nabbed a smallish bottle of whiskey from the kitchen and shrugged on his leather jacket. Fuck it. His dad would be so hungover tomorrow he wouldn't remember, would think that he had polished off the half-size bottle himself.  
Dean wandered through the fences and brightly-twinkling windows of his neighborhood in the dusk, hiding the bottle in his jacket between sips. The sky was a swirl of purples, grays, dark blues, and streaks of fading orange. The cold nipped at Dean's hands and face. Typical. Thanksgiving: A time for family, togetherness, and counting your blessings. And what was Dean Winchester doing? Stumbling over the sidewalks, scuffing the rampant grass growing up through the cracks, balancing on the curb, avoiding his life.  
His traitorous feet brought him to Jessica's house. It was a beautiful suburban house just like all beautiful suburban houses, just like Dean's beautiful suburban house. A paper house. A paint by numbers house with a paint by numbers garden and, Dean imagined, a paint by numbers family. He stood on the green, green lawn and looked into the dining room window. The scene was framed like a photograph or one of those what's-wrong-with-this-picture placemats that kid-friendly diners always had on the tables. Dean watched his brother smile contentedly in the middle of someone else's Thanksgiving, someone else's family. Dean felt like he was dissolving into sore, soggy pieces. The night air hummed. The bottle of whiskey sloshed. The happy family was happy. Dean turned and walked back the way he'd come.  
When he reached his own house it was dark and he was tipsy. He paused, then kept walking until he stood at Cas' door. He didn't knock, not wanting to deal with someone who wasn't Cas. Instead he touched the wall next to the door. It was rough beneath his hands. He walked around the house to the back, trailing his hand along the uneven surface the whole way. The light in Cas' shed was on, so Dean stumbled toward it. No, he wasn't drunk, it was dark, okay? For the second time that night, he stood outside a bright window and stared inside.  
Cas was at his desk, hunched over, a look of burning concentration on his face. His paintbrush flew over the page, dripping colored water all over the place. He looked like a god of chaos. He looked like a hurricane. Dean wanted to be a part of the storm. He tapped on the window, making Cas jump. Paint went flying. Dean walked around to the door, which opened.  
'Dean? What are you doing?' Cas was paint-splattered and his eyes were red-rimmed.  
'What are _you_ doing? It's Thanksgiving, you know. Every other family is having a paint by numbers moment.'  
Cas' forehead furrowed. 'What?' Then, 'Dean, are you drunk?'  
Dean withdrew the bottle and took a sip. 'Not quite. Getting there, though. Want some?'  
Cas hesitated (Dean felt a crackle of _something wrong_ ) then drew Dean inside and closed the door. Dean offered him the bottle. Cas took a swig and coughed. 'Ack. That is not pleasant.'  
Dean raised an imaginary glass and said, 'I'll drink to that.'  
'Where did you get this, anyway?'  
'My dad. Figured he wouldn't miss it. He's K-O'd on the couch. And Sam is being someone else's family tonight.'  
Cas' face cleared. 'Ah,' he muttered, and took another swig.  
Dean watched Cas' lips close around the neck of the bottle, watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Dean's clothes suddenly felt uncomfortably tight. He shook his head as if to clear it. It didn't work. 'Hey! I have an idea. Best idea I've ever had. Not really. Or maybe it is. C'mon, let's go.'  
Things at Cas' must've been pretty bad that evening because Cas didn't even raise an eyebrow, he simply pulled on his jacket and followed Dean, turning the light off as they left. He drank again, then handed the bottle back to Dean as they walked. He didn't ask where they were going.  
They walked in silence, passing the bottle back and forth, breathing into cupped hands to warm them, until they reached the train tracks. It was a disused section of tracks bordered by woods on either side; a thin strip of young trees on one side and a slice of thick old-growth forest on the other. There was a plywood shack with a hole in the roof about ten feet from the ties covered in weeds and saplings. Year by year, the wood slats between the tracks were worn down by rot or termites or wood-cracking frost. As decrepit as they were, they held their shape. Their only remaining purpose seemed to be providing a place for teenagers to meet, make small fires, and play with spray paint.  
Dean sprawled out on the ground and Cas sat down next to him. Dean resisted the urge to lean into Cas' body heat. He drank more whiskey instead. He could feel his lips going numb and tingly, could feel the spin of the earth. He handed the bottle to Cas. He felt the _something wrong_ hanging over Cas like a mushroom cloud. Normally Cas would've said something by now.  
'You finish it,' Dean told him, 'I'm good.' Cas slugged it back. Dean whistled. 'Didn't have you pegged as the liquor-holding type.'  
'Me either. Full of surprises, I suppose.'  
The whiskey made Dean's head swim. He felt warmth spread in pulses to the tips of his fingers. Everything felt better and easier to ignore. Whatever was bothering him went fuzzy and blurry and danced over to a place in his brain that he knew he'd have to concentrate to reach. He didn't concentrate. The stars were really beautiful. He looked up at them and felt himself tipping backwards. Cas caught him.  
'Don't fall. You'll fall asleep.'  
'Sleep sounds good.' Dean glanced over at Cas and saw him as a stranger stripped of all associations. A thin, muscular boy in paint-splashed clothes with mussy black hair and chapped lips was staring back at Dean and finishing off a bottle of whiskey. Dean smiled happily. Cas smiled back. The familiar-strange-familiar face lit up. Dean's stomach squirmed, not unpleasantly. Cas' smile faltered and he opened his mouth to say something. Time slowed. Dean felt an unutterable horror. Cas was upset. That meant that something awful had happened. Dean did not want to know. He didn't want anything to be wrong, he wanted to breathe and not know and then maybe it would all just disappear. All he knew was that he desperately needed to stop Cas from saying whatever it was he was going to say or the world would end. So he grabbed the whiskey bottle and threw it onto the tracks, where it shattered.  
'What the hell?' Cas spluttered. 'Seriously, Dean?'  
'What? I'm venting!' Dean wagged his finger at Cas. 'Which...is healthy.'  
'Oh, really? Do you feel better now?'  
Dean grinned. 'No. But I will if you punch me.' He pushed himself up and held out a hand.  
Cas gaped at him. 'Punch you?'  
'Yeah. Right here.' Dean indicated his cheek.  
'Why would I punch you?' Cas took Dean's hand (hot, dry, don't let go). Dean dropped it as soon as Cas was on his feet.  
'Because. I've never been punched in the face. I want to know what it feels like. Plus, think of the awesome bruise.' Cas stared at him. 'Come on, just do it.'  
'You're a mystery to me, Dean Winchester.'  
Dean bounced on his feet. 'Okay, do it hard, though. If you punch like a wuss it won't work.'  
Cas balled his hands into fists and stared at them. 'Are you sure? I can't punch you. I'm not even mad at you.'  
'Alright, so get mad. Think of someone you're pissed at.'  
Cas exhaled slowly. 'Not hard. Are you _sure_ you're sure?'  
'Yes, Cas, oh my god, just do it.'  
Cas' face darkened. His eyes glittered in the dark. He pulled his arm back and smashed his fist into the side of Dean's face.  
A loud noise and blinding pain. Dean doubled over, holding his face. 'Ah, fuck! Fuck, that hurt. Aaaah.' His face felt like it was throbbing red against the cold night air.  
Cas touched Dean's shoulder. 'Dean, are you okay? Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit you so hard. Tell me you're okay.'  
Dean's hand came away from his face with a small amount of blood. He straightened up. Cas was so close he couldn't breathe. He could see Cas' eyelashes. He felt his face. It stung. 'I think it's just a small cut.' Cas' cold fingers touched Dean's now-swollen cheek. Dean jerked back as if electrocuted.  
Cas sucked in a breath through his teeth. 'I'm so sorry.'  
Dean laughed. His heartbeat pounded in his face. The pain dulled a bit. 'Don't be sorry. That was badass. Man, who knew you had it in you?' He was face to face with Cas, who wasn't backing away. Adrenaline flooded his veins.  
'Dean, I have to tell you something.'  
Dean was terrified. He didn't want to hear it. Something was balanced precariously between them, so he leaned in toward Cas. He tipped the balance just enough for gravity to take hold. A slow listing that gained momentum. Cas' eyes widened. Just before Dean's lips touched Cas', he stopped. He couldn't do it. He was a complete coward. But he couldn't make himself step away either. Instead, he rested his forehead against Cas'. Surrender. A primal challenge. Cas fell into Dean's orbit like he belonged there and pressed his lips to Dean's.  
The world slowed down. Dean's face burned where Cas had hit him and his fingertips froze. Cas' closed lips fit so perfectly against his and Dean felt the hard press of Cas' chin. Cas took a small step forward so his body was against Dean's and lifted his hands to cup Dean's swelling face. He felt solid and reassuring and warm so Dean let it all go and let himself be kissed. He may or may not have whimpered into Cas' mouth. He wrapped his arms around Cas and pulled him closer, licked at Cas' dry lips, brought his hand up and touched Cas' jaw, his cold hair, the back of his neck. He knew his way around Cas' body by heart already, but everything about Cas that was so familiar now opened up into a million new dimensions: For Dean it was like opening his eyes and discovering that he could suddenly see colors he'd never even dreamed were possible. Cas wriggled against Dean and nipped his lip, then their mouths were open and they were tasting one another. Alcohol, the flat taste of clean skin, sweetness, life. Dean was lost. Completely. Hopelessly.

Dean woke up tangled in his sheets with a splitting headache. He grabbed his head and yelped when his hand met a tender spot on his face. What had happened? He searched his memory. Yesterday was Thanksgiving. He had stolen a bottle of whiskey, walked through the neighborhood. He had ended up at Cas' house, hadn't he? No. Cas' shed. Train tracks. He and Cas had finished the whiskey down by the train tracks. Could Dean's life _be_ any more like a bad country song? Sam was sitting with a happy family. That was right, he'd gone to Jess' for the night. And then...Cas' eyes glittering with fury. Blinding pain. Blood on his hands. Cas' hands on Dean's face and...their mouths pressed together. Dean had whimpered. He had clung to Cas like a limpet and fallen apart.  
He pressed his face into his pillow as embarrassment, shame, and nausea ran through him in equal measures. He groaned. He couldn't remember anything after that. He must have walked home and stumbled up to his bed somehow. He sat up, head spinning and face thumping in pain. Had Cas gotten home alright? He looked reflexively at the window, squinting against the light. He stood up shakily and noticed his near-nudity. His clothes from last night were strewn around his room. He stumbled to the window and screwed up his face against the sun. He could see into Cas' room: the bed was filled with a Cas-shaped bulge, a mop of black hair protruding from haphazard covers. Good. Dean could go back to feeling like a needy, disgusting freak without worrying.

Dean avoided Cas for a week. He took detours at school, he walked the halls or sat in empty classrooms at lunch, and he only went home to sleep. He spent the rest of the time climbing trees in the woods, borrowing the car keys to drive around Lawrence in circles, or riding bikes with Benny. Benny stared at Dean's bruised face and tightened his jaw in disapproval, but didn't ask. Dean was half-tempted to ask Benny how Cas was doing but the words died in his lungs. Occasionally he caught glimpses of Cas in the hallways. Cas looked defeated. Seeing him made Dean painfully aware of a certain lump in his throat, but he was overwhelmed with it all (nerves, sadness, tension, humiliation, anger, caution) so he always turned away abruptly and tried to pretend that he hadn't seen Cas seeing him. Dean didn't even realize how much effort he was putting into tracking Cas in order to avoid him until the day Cas didn't show up. Why wasn't he there? Cas was never absent. And Dean meant never. Last year Cas had come to school with the flu and passed out at his desk in English. Foreboding washed over Dean. It must have shown on his face because Benny finally cracked and said, 'Go talk to him, Dean. Stop being such a dick.' Dean wondered how much he knew.


	14. Chapter 14

1985

Dean

The carpet scraped his palms as he pushed himself up and looked over at the new kid.  
'Castiel, this is Dean. Dean, remember Castiel? From yesterday? His family just moved in next door.' John's voice was slow, simple, candy-coated. He assumed that because Dean didn't really speak, he didn't really understand. He finished his sentences with question marks because to him, talking to Dean felt like throwing pebbles down a well without hearing a splash.  
It was true. After Mary's death, Dean's well had dried up. It was an Indian summer without all the romantic connotations. It was a scorching hell of a time for Dean where he felt lost and depleted. Too dry to respond with a splash when people dropped him words. His voice stuck its nose out the door, smelled the burning tar, and went back inside. Turned on the air con and watched the home shopping network. Dean wasn't confused or stupid. It wasn't like he was somehow disconnected. He was just on screensaver. What people said didn't register, and Dean didn't want anything to register, so he wrapped himself in a blanket of not-here-be-back-soon. Recently, he had started to say the odd word every once in a while, but mostly he felt happy to watch and wait.  
John smiled at the new boy and said, 'You make yourself at home, son. I'll go make you two some lunch. Maybe you can meet Sammy too, if he's up from his nap soon.' Dad left for the kitchen, and Castiel looked at Dean.  
'Hi.' His voice wasn't candy-coated, it was wide open and welcoming. 'That looks fun.'  
Dean looked down at the pile of Toobers & Zots. He pushed half the pile over to Cas, who sat down and picked up a handful of foam circles.  
'Where do these go?'  
Dean lifted a flat piece with holes cut into it and took a circle from Cas. He slotted the circle into the hole and pressed it flat with his palms, making sure the edges aligned. Dean liked it when things fell into place and fit together.  
'Oh, okay. Can I have some of your tubes?'  
Dean offered Cas a bouquet of thick foam tubes. Red. Yellow. Blue. Green.  
'Thanks. Can I bend them?'  
Dean nodded enthusiastically and grabbed the rocket ship he had been building, indicating all the bent parts. It was a twisted mess of wild imagination.  
'I like yours! What is it? Is it a car from the future?'  
Dean shook his head and mimed it taking off.  
'I can make a planet and some aliens and we can play astronauts in space if you want.'  
Dean nodded and started picking through the pieces, looking for two of the long tubes and a shape to use as an alien head. He bent them into a hunched shape with gangly legs and added two different-sized eye-circles to the face. Then, to make it sufficiently alien, he added a tail. Cas wound some tubes into a big ball and stuck short little pegs into the cracks.  
'Look, I made a planet. I put some trees on it for air.'  
Dean showed Cas his alien, and Cas reached over and handed Dean the planet.  
John walked in from the kitchen, still wearing his work boots. 'Do you boys want some juice?' Cas looked at Dean, whose eyes sent him a silent 'no.'  
'No thanks, Mr. Winchester.'  
Dean and Cas continued making aliens, rocket ships, astronaut helmets, and ray guns until John called them to the kitchen table for mac and cheese, standard Winchester fare. After they ate, they used everything they had made to play a very intense and half-silent (though not one-sided) game that involved a lot of shooting each other with foam ray guns and falling off the furniture onto piles of cushions.  
When it was time for Cas to go home, Dean really didn't want him to go, even though he knew it was only next door. He opened his mouth and waited for his feelings to arrange themselves into English words in an understandable order, but they didn't. They swirled around him in colors and shapes and foam-textured anxiety, so he closed his mouth and settled for watching as Cas put his shoes on and tied them. Then Cas said, 'You can come over to my house next time if you want. All my toys are still in the box but there's a tire swing in the backyard. My mom says it's safe.'  
Dean felt something waiting in his lungs. He opened his mouth again and his feelings converged and coalesced into a quiet, 'okay.' Cas beamed, and Dean was still happy when Sammy woke up twenty minutes later.


	15. Chapter 15

1995

Sam

Cas' room was as familiar to Sam as his own, but now, in the evening and in its current state, it looked completely different. It was gutted. Ordered chaos. An OCD bomb. Every drawer was open, every surface covered in folded clothes, rolled up posters, art kits, socks, tickets, photos, and shoes. Sam watched Cas move around the room like a zombie. An organized zombie. Michael walked by the open door with a heavy box in his arms, grumbling.  
'How long are you going for? Will you be back in time for Christmas?' Sam tried to keep his voice light and even. He handed Cas a matched pair of socks.  
'I'm not sure. We'll be gone until Anna gets better, I guess.' Cas sighed, dropped the socks into his suitcase, and sat down next to Sam on the bed. 'My mom just wants us to be closer to Anna so we can visit her more often.'  
Sam heard crunching gravel in his mind, remembered playing in Bobby's salvage yard, remembered the feeling of weeks stretching out to the end of forever. 'Come back soon, Cas. I'm gonna miss you. Christmas won't be the same without you.' Sam couldn't help it, his voice wobbled and cracked a little.  
Cas smiled a sad smile (not a rare Cas-smile) and wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders. 'I'm going to miss you guys too. My dad will still be here, you know. Maybe I'll ask my mom if I can spend Christmas with him.'  
Sam perked up. 'Yes! And even if she says no you can always run away and stay at our house. You don't even have to sleep on the couch. You can have my bed, or Dean's.'  
Cas' face crumpled and Sam wondered if Cas knew what was wrong with Dean. If anyone would know, it was Cas. Sam sure as hell didn't. He had barely seen his brother over the last week. Sam tried to figure out how to ask without sounding nosy. Cas got up and walked over to his suitcase, his back to Sam. 'How is Dean, anyway? I haven't seen him around lately.'  
Sam was confused. 'What do you mean? I thought he was over here all the time.'  
Cas cleared his throat. 'Nope. I haven't talked to him since Thanksgiving.'  
'What?' Sam's confusion tripled. That was unheard of. The last time Dean had gone longer than a couple of days without talking to Cas was a year and a half ago when Dad had taken Dean and Sam camping. And even then, Dean had dragged Sam, Cas, and the tent out to the woods by the train tracks as soon as they got back so he could show Cas everything they had learned about roughing it. 'So...you don't know what's wrong with him either?'  
Cas stood unnaturally still. 'What do you mean? What's wrong with him?'  
Sam stared at the back of Cas' head and fumbled to find the right words to express the foggy distance in Dean's eyes, the way Sam suspected that Dean hadn't really seen anything in a week. 'I mean he's never home. He's mad all the time. He doesn't talk anymore. It looks like he got into a fistfight. He doesn't...I dunno...he's off in his own head. Like he's not even there.' Cas made a hmm-ing noise and crouched down to reorganize his socks. Sam sighed. 'Maybe you could talk to him.'  
Cas finally turned around and for a second Sam thought he saw a wince of pain. 'I would, but he's never around.'  
'He's home now, I think.' Sam looked at him hopefully. 'Please, Cas? You know he won't talk to me.'  
Cas nodded. 'Okay. After I've packed this suitcase.'

Sam darted past the moving van, up the porch steps, and into the house in front of Cas. He slipped through to the living room and pointed Cas upstairs to Dean's room. Cas braced himself and walked up the stairs. Sam didn't blame him. He didn't envy anyone who had to approach Dean in the mood he was in without armor and a cattle prod. He waited, tense, until he hard a soft knock, then muffled voices. He couldn't help it, he was curious. He crept up the stairs and stood at the door to his room, where he could hear.  
They were already talking.  
'When were you planning on telling me?' Dean's voice was low and dangerous.  
Cas made an irritated sound. 'You're the one who's been AWOL, Dean. I've been trying to tell you since Thanksgiving. It's impossible to tell someone something if they're avoiding you like the plague.'  
Sam held his breath and waited for the explosion. It didn't come. But eventually Dean spoke and it was somehow worse. His voice was rough and sarcastic. 'I should've known. Everyone leaves eventually, right?' It wasn't a question.  
'Dean - '  
'So you don't know when you're coming back.'  
'Dean, why are you pissed? You know I don't have a choice.'  
'Save it, Cas.' Dean snarled. A dull thud. Sam knew intimately the sound of Dean kicking something.  
Cas spoke again and his voice was small and quiet. Sam could've warned him against that; Dean hated signs of weakness in someone when he was trying to be angry with them. 'We can call each other. And I might be able to come back for Christmas.'  
'Don't bother,' Dean spat. 'You'll be too busy with your new freakin' fantastic life.'  
'What the fuck, Dean? Don't be an ass. She's my sister, I have to go. Is this about Thanksgiving? Because you know that wasn't my idea - '  
And that was when Dean exploded, like Sam knew he would. 'Why are you even _here_ , Cas?!'  
'Dean, can you just t - '  
'Get out!' Silence. 'I mean it, Cas! Get the hell out.'  
Sam gaped in disbelief. Cas backed out through Dean's door, then whirled around and stomped down the stairs. The front door slammed. Sam heard swearing and the sound of Dean kicking something again.

A couple days later, when the car and the moving van pulled out, Sam stood at the end of the driveway alone except for Cas' dad standing at the curb. They didn't look at each other. Dean's curtains were closed and Sam was trying not to cry as he watched the car filled with half a family drive away. Cas twisted around in his seat and waved. Sam waved back. The car disappeared. The sound of the moving van faded into the distance. Sam couldn't bring himself to go back inside. He and Cas' dad stood there. Not waiting. Waiting.


	16. Chapter 16

1995 – 1996

Sam

The rest of December, Christmas, and the New Year passed and Dean's bad mood didn't lift. He was surly and bad-tempered, even with Sam. More than once Sam caught Dean staring intently at the phone, and on Christmas day Dean's temper was even more disturbing underneath his attempt to cover it up with a veneer of kindness. Sam saw Dean trying and failing to shake off Cas' absence and whatever else was bothering him.  
Going back to school after the break was a relief, but Sam was still worried. Jess and Brady loaned him books and tried to cheer him up, but his brother's change in attitude hung over him like a rain cloud. At least Dean got to burn off some of his pent-up tension when he spent time with Benny. He always came back from their escapades looking marginally less miserable. Nevertheless, Dean's face got stormier as Cas' absence stretched on and on. Sam hadn't heard from Cas at all, and assumed Dean hadn't either. He missed the other boy's presence in many ways. It felt less like home without Cas.  
One day, Sam was staring out the window in his math class when his attention was caught by a distant movement by the high school. Was that Dean by the bleachers? He squinted. It was. And...were there people underneath the stands? Sam thought he could make out two silhouettes: a tall one with dark hair and a shorter one with long blonde hair. He watched as Dean made his way to them. Something sparked in the air. A lighter, Sam realized. He looked at the clock, confused. It wasn't a break time. Dean must be cutting class.  
'Mr. Winchester, are you with us?'  
'Huh?' Sam snapped back to his reality. 

The tall silhouette, Sam eventually learned, was a guy named Fergus Crowley. The shorter silhouette was a mysterious, cold-eyed girl named Bela Talbot. Sam asked around about them and was told a number of highly-colored stories that involved theft, fires, smoking, drinking, car crashes, and bullying. Fergus and Bela started coming around to the house in a dinged-up car that wheezed and rattled like Pestilence. They made the living room smell like cigarette smoke. Sam hated them. Their eyes were caustic and hard, their smiles were insincere smirks. He hated who Dean became around them. He wanted his brother back.

The night before Valentine's Day, Sam asked Dean for help and Dean swallowed his cynicism long enough to help Sam make an unfolding origami heart out of construction paper. If Sam ignored the smell of tobacco and the edge to Dean's laugh, he could almost imagine that it was the old Dean, the one who had laughed easily and hugged people more.  
The next day, Sam brought in cards for all his friends, but saved Jess' special one for last. He handed it to Jess, blushing furiously. Her face lit up and she hugged him tightly.  
'Sam! This is so cool!'  
'You have to unfold it to read the message, see?' He picked at a corner to show her.  
She grinned. 'I made something for you too.' She reached into her bag and dug out a thick envelope. She had written his name in huge loopy cursive on the front. Sam's heart sped up at the twinkle in Jess' eyes. If Jess were an animal, Sam thought, she'd be a mongoose. She was clever and loyal and silly and the type of person who could behead a snake without flinching one moment and then cuddle the next. If she were a dessert, she'd be sea salt and juniper chocolate. Cas had brought him and Dean some back from Larned once, and after initial awe and disgust and double-dares, they had tried it and liked it. It was unabashedly sweet with a salty kick that stayed on the tongue long after the chocolate was gone.  
He and Jess walked to lunch together and met up with Brady, Becky, Zach, and the new girl, Sarah. They were just sitting down at their usual table when they heard the alarm in the distance. Everyone stopped and looked around, as if the source was just out of sight.  
'What is that?'  
'Is that us?'  
'I think it's the high school.'  
'I'm going to go see.'  
Everyone in the cafeteria scrambled to find a window that looked out onto the shared soccer and baseball fields. Sam's height gave him an advantage: He peered over the heads of everyone else and could see the high school students filing out and standing in sections on the pitches.  
'What's going on?' Becky asked.  
'Everyone from over there is evacuating.'  
Sam stared, trying to make Dean out in the mass of students. He looked for Dean's leather jacket. There. Next to Crowley, Bela, and some pale-faced girl with long black hair that Sam didn't recognize. They were laughing and jostling one another. Sam relaxed.  
'They're all goofing off, must just be a fire drill.'  
That was when they heard the sirens. Sam's head whipped around.  
'Are those sirens?'  
'Is something actually on fire?'  
Suspicion crept over Sam. He looked back to Dean. The pale-faced girl mimed something with her hands and the rest of them laughed even harder.

The story spread through the three schools over the course of the day. Apparently, someone had blown up a toilet with a cherry bomb. Everyone wanted to know how someone could have smuggled it into the high school in the first place. Rumors flew and, though most were nonsense, they all had one thing in common: It had to do with Fergus Crowley. Everyone knew he had cleaned out an abandoned unlicensed firework factory a couple months ago. When Sam got home, Dean's face was flushed and excited. Sam's stomach sank.

It was only later that night that he remembered Jess' Valentine. He smiled to himself and got out of bed to open it. It was a handmade pop-up booklet. Jess had cut out little wedges of card, folded them, and glued anatomically-correct human hearts onto them so that when Sam opened the pages, the hearts unfolded. Each one had a word written on it. 'Happy Valentine's Day, Sam. It will all work out. Love, Jess.' Sam felt like he was glowing.

After that, Sam noticed that Dean hardly spent any time with Benny, and he knew Dean was sneaking out of school more often than he was going in. Sam saw him sometimes, watched him follow Crowley and Bela as they kicked a hole in the fence at the back of the soccer field and slunk off into the distance. Dean slammed his boot into the chain links like the fence had personally insulted him, like the twisting metal was what had left him flat and waiting and furious. Sam wished more than ever that their dad would come home and stay for longer than a week or two. He got his wish when the high school called John about Dean's attendance.


	17. Chapter 17

1996

Dean

When John next came home, in late March, he stayed for a few weeks. Even if it was only, Dean bitterly thought, to lecture his eldest son about his behavior. Dean knew he was being a grouchy and reckless dick, but he couldn't seem to check himself. In school he felt like he was suffocating. With Benny he felt like Cas was missing. With Sam he felt inadequate. He could only forget about the gaping cavity Cas had left behind and his own failure to be a good human being when he was with Crowley, Bela, Meg, and that crowd. They were the antithesis of everything Dean's life had been before and he needed that escape. John's presence, instead of soothing him as it usually did, made his skin itch and crawl. He chose to spend most of his time at Crowley's rather than face his dad's judgement, lectures, and drinking.  
And that was how he found himself sprawled on the torn up couch in Crowley's poster-plastered garage playing a high-stakes game of spin the bottle. Well, spin the can. Meg turned the volume of the deafening music down a bit. The garage was crawling with people, all of them drinking the cheap beer that Crowley had pinched from his oblivious parents, and the thumping bass made conversation near-impossible. Somehow, a group of about ten of them had started up a game that was a mashup of puff puff pass and spin the bottle. Dean had scoffed at them for being immature, but then understood: It wasn't about kissing, it was about sex. Dean was awed by the gravity of it and the disregard they all had for something the rest of the world considered to be so serious. He wanted to self-destruct and scorn the rules, too. So he had joined in.  
It was Meg's turn. She stalked back over from the sound system and bent down to spin the can, aluminum clattering against the concrete floor. She finished her beer as it slowly spun to a stop, pointing at Alastair, who grimaced and struggled to his feet. He followed Meg's swinging leather-clad hips out of the room to whooping and wolf-whistles.  
Bela spun the can with nimble fingers. Dean watched the flashing metal skitter across the floor and knew it would land on him before it had even slowed down. He felt it in his gut. He wasn't mistaken.  
'Come on then, Winchester.' Dean swallowed and tried not to choke as he got up and followed her out into the darkened hall. Bela took his hand and led him past a messy laundry room, a closed door, and a small living room before they came to an empty bedroom. It definitely wasn't Crowley's. It looked like the room of a pre-teen girl. Dean looked around with apprehension as Bela closed the door.  
'Whose room is this?'  
Bela shrugged. 'Crowley's sister's? Who cares?' She pulled a condom out of her pocket and walked towards him, stripping off layers as she came, until she stood in front of him in her underwear. 'Well? We don't have all night. Take 'em off.'  
Dean raised his eyebrows and did just that. When he was down to his boxers, Bela artlessly stripped off her bra and underwear and slid Dean's boxers down off his hips. He stared at her bold nudity, the smudge of dark hair between her legs, the lines on her skin from her jeans, her bare shoulders. Something about her directness and apathy sang to a deep-down part of Dean. A high, clear melody drifting from the atmosphere. And part of him howled back. He had never actually had sex before, had only gone as far as second base with Amanda Heckerling in the back of his car, but it felt as natural as breathing to lay on his back and pull Bela down on top of him. Her long blonde hair fell over them like a curtain. It smelled like artificial fruit and plastic flowers and air freshener. Her skin was much softer than Dean had expected and he traced a few faint freckles just below her neck. For a moment, Dean thought she was going to kiss him, but she veered off sideways instead and ripped the condom wrapper open with her teeth. Dean was hard already. He didn't protest as she rolled the condom down over him.  
She leaned over and started sucking hickeys onto his neck, her hands tracing along the insides of his arms. He didn't complain. She pinned his wrists above his head and he bucked involuntarily under her, craving contact. Her hickeys were brutal and bruising and sharp. He gasped. She sat back and pulled him up, straddling his lap. He had a vague idea of what to do, so he wrapped his arms around her back and licked her nipple, caught the hardening bud between his teeth and flicked his tongue over it, then closed his lips and sucked gently. It was soft like velvet, warm, with the dusty tang of human skin. She gasped and ground down onto him. Her sex was warm and wet. He groaned and his hips jerked up uncontrollably. He pinched her other nipple between his fingers. Her hand found the back of his head and gripped his hair hard enough to hurt. With her other hand, she reached down between them and guided Dean into her.  
He lost all sense for a moment. She was incredibly tight, wet, and hot. Slipping inside her felt unreal. Dean thought of molten metal, hailstorms, Cas' eyes. When his mind came back, he heard himself moaning. The air smelled like sex. The light from the streetlamp outside painted Bela's skin orange. Dean's hands roamed up her back and tangled in her hair. He thrust up into her as she bore down on him, her eyes closed and mouth open. He fell back onto the pillow and she stretched herself out on top of him, hands gripping the headboard, hips pressing into his and circling, grinding. She was gasping now, and Dean's moans were louder. The bedposts were banging the wall. Her breasts were near enough, so Dean dipped his head forwards and sucked her left nipple. His hands found her ass and pulled her down harder and harder, crashing their hips together like colliding cars, like punches. He couldn't stop the noises he was making now, knew he was making a scene but didn't care. She arched her back, cried out, and tensed around him. Her whole body quivered. Her mouth was open in a silent yell. That was when he came, throwing his head back and pulsing into her until he was spent and his entire body went weak and floppy.  
She let herself fall off him sideways and hit the mattress next to him with a whispered, 'Jesus. That was amazing.'  
Dean was too tired to reply. He reached down and pulled the condom off carefully, tied a knot in the end, and looked around for a bin. He tried not to notice Bela's rather clammy skin pressing into his, the smell of pheromonal sweat, his absurd rush of self-consciousness at being naked. He wished he were somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Well. Not ANYwhere else, he thought, an hour later, as he stumbled in through his front door. He almost laughed but didn't want to wake his dad or Sam. He knew he smelled like weed and beer on top of having a collage of massive hickeys on his neck. He silently cursed Bela. At the same time, he pressed his fingers into a bruise and it felt like touching a live wire. Something wickedly delightful flared in the pit of his stomach. He made his way to the stairs. He was almost there when the living room light flickered on and John loomed large in the doorway.  
'Where the hell have you been, Dean? It's 1 a.m. on a school night.'  
Dean froze. His mind went blank. 'Out. At a friend's.'  
John sniffed. 'Have you been smoking?' He came closer. 'Is that a hickey?! Have you been _drinking_?'  
Dean felt indignant in the face of his dad's hypocrisy. 'No,' he lied.  
John sagged against the door frame and sighed. 'It was that Fergus kid, wasn't it? Dean, I don't want you hanging around with his crowd. They're a bad bunch.'  
'No, they aren't. At least they're there for me.' A cold fear and a hot rage fell on Dean at once. He had never openly contradicted his father before.  
John narrowed his eyes. 'Enough with this new attitude, Dean. The school called me about your attendance. Sam told me you haven't been yourself. It's time for you to shape up.'  
'What do you know about it?' Dean mumbled. He felt dizzy.  
'What was that?' John's voice was sharp.  
Dean lifted his jaw and looked him in the eye. The words snapped out of him. 'I said, what do you know about it? You're never here, you don't _know_. I'm the one who's always here, I'm the one who deals with all of this!' His voice was louder now. 'I'm the one who watches out for Sam, who makes sure he has enough to eat, who helps him with homework, who deals with his nightmares and his problems.'  
John looked stricken, but his voice came out as a growl. 'You watch your tone, Dean.'  
Dean knew what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to drop his gaze and say 'yes, sir.' But he wouldn't do it. He couldn't. He had had it with unswerving obedience. Dean's vision suddenly cleared: He saw John Winchester for who he was – a broken man, a man in mourning, a functional alcoholic, an absent father trying and failing to do his best. The fight drained out of Dean in a matter of seconds. He had nothing else to say, so he walked up the stairs.  
'Don't you walk away from me, Dean! Dean!'  
Dean closed his bedroom door.


	18. Chapter 18

1996

Sam

The loud blaring ship horn in Sam's dream became raised voices on the stairs. A low sound. A long pause. Sam's eyes grew heavy. Then, 'Don't you walk away from me, Dean! Dean!' Sam heard Dean's door close. He rolled over, too sleepy to try to understand, only able to register the tension. His eyelids grew heavy again and his eyes felt sore, so he closed them. He drifted off on clouds of blackness only to be startled awake again by lights on his wall. His heart sang. Cas must be back! Cas, back with his flashlight to push bravely on through the dark of Dean's defenses armed with baby pictures, codes, secrets! The light receded and an engine growled. Sam blinked himself awake. The lights were white, not yellow. Headlights. He heard their car drive off down the street.  
He was awake now, but groggy. He recalled raised voices. Dean and Dad. They must have fought. But who had left? He shoved the covers back and got out of bed, walked down the hall to find out what had happened. The bathroom light was on and Dean was standing in front of the mirror in his boxers. So Dad must have left. Sam wasn't worried, he knew Dad would come back to say goodbye and check in before leaving again on another job. What was Dean doing, though? Sam sucked in a breath when he saw the fresh purple bruises on Dean's neck and collarbone. He balked. Dad couldn't have done that. Dean was examining them. He pressed his fingertips onto the bruises, grimaced. It made Sam feel sore in sympathy. It must have hurt, but that didn't stop Dean. Dean pressed them, hissed in pain and clenched his hands into fists. He stared at his reflection, then held his left arm with his right. Sam watched in utter bewilderment as Dean dug his nails into his arm hard enough to puncture. Dean gasped and let go. Sam saw the red crescents blooming on the map of Dean's skin and his compass suddenly demagnetized. He didn't know what to do.

After that, Dean barely came home at all until John eventually left on a cross-country trip, taking the other car and leaving the Impala for Dean. Even then, Dean spent most of his time with his new horrible friends. His voice started to bend in Crowley's direction with a barely-detectable British twang cut into short snippets. Sam saw acid forming in Dean's eyes. It was a bitter color wash that looked like laughter, but nothing was funny. Even when summer came, after school ended and summer school began (Sam went to take AP classes, Dean to make up for his failing grades) Dean still slept over most nights at other people's houses. He sometimes made and ate dinner with Sam and then vanished until morning. Sam watched as layer after layer of bruises and scrapes appeared on Dean's skin. He wanted to ask where they came from but every time he tried Dean clammed up and told him to mind his own business. Sam had almost forgotten what it was like to look at Dean and see something that didn't alarm him.  
Then, one hot Sunday morning near the end of June, when Dean was out somewhere, Cas and his family came back. From his window, Sam saw the car pull up and he watched with bated breath as Cas emerged. As soon as he saw Cas, Sam dissolved with relief. Cas' dad walked out and wrapped them in awkward hugs, then picked up a suitcase and led them all inside.  
Sam waited impatiently all day to see if Cas would come over and say hi, then waited impatiently all evening for Dean to get home so he could tell him the news. Cas didn't come over. Sam figured he was probably busy unpacking. And Dean didn't come home. But Sam was too pleased to let the wait bother him. He microwaved leftovers for dinner and called Jess instead. He felt lighter than air.


	19. Chapter 19

1996

Dean

Dean and Crowley left Bela sleeping on the couch and went straight to school from Crowley's house on Monday morning. She waved them off and said she'd catch up later, so they shrugged and left. They knew she had enough stolen hall passes and forged notes from her parents to stroll in whenever she wanted.  
The first half of the day passed in an overheated stupor. Dean drew stick figures and spirals on the desk and tried to care about the remedial classes. Mostly he watched the hands on the clock move. When the bell rang for lunch, he found Crowley outside on the edge of the field and they sat in the shade of a beech tree and shared a cigarette.  
'We should blow something else up soon.' Crowley tapped his foot.  
'Take it easy, Yosemite Sam. What's the rush?'  
Crowley gave him a scathing look. 'Come on now, darling, you've got to be able to dream bigger.'  
'What did you have in mind?'  
'I have a few sticks of dynamite left, and a load of fireworks. It IS the 4th of July coming up, after all. We would be setting a fine example for patriots across the nation if we combined them into one big blowout.'  
Dean thought about it. 'How much dynamite, exactly?'  
'Four sticks.'  
'I can see the headline already. Teen Idiots Killed in Their Own Dynamite Blast.'  
'Don't be a stick-of-dynamite-in-the-mud.'  
They saw Bela coming from a long way off. She hopped over the fence and walked towards them.  
'So.' Crowley flicked ash to the grass. 'Judging by the mincemeat she's made of your neck, I'd say we can expect an announcement from you and Bela any day now.'  
Dean scowled and turned his collar up. 'Shut up. It's not like that. It's just...'  
'Pure unadulterated lust with no strings attached? Charming.'  
Dean shrugged and tossed his lighter from hand to hand. 'Call it what you want. I don't hear anyone complaining. Except you.'  
'All part of my appeal.' He smirked at Dean. Bela slumped down next to them and grabbed the lighter from Dean's hand. Crowley raised his eyebrows. 'Don't snatch, it's rude.'  
'You're rude.'  
Dean tuned out their bickering and scanned the field, the shallow sea of humans. Two kinds: the AP overachievers and the failing second-chancers. The Sams and the Deans of the world. His lips quirked. And that was when Dean saw him. Cas. Right there, in the distance, standing with a group of people Dean didn't know. Dean's heart stopped, then started beating twice as fast. No, he had to be seeing things. That was probably just some random guy with messy black hair. This was just a moment like all those other moments after Cas had first left, when Dean had seen Cas everywhere. That couldn't be Cas. But it was. Dean would know him from a mile away. As if he'd heard Dean's thoughts, Cas turned and looked straight at him. Shock rolled over Dean in waves. He felt like screaming, he felt like dancing, he felt like hitting something til his knuckles bled.  
'He's not listening to your genius plan.'  
'Dean. OY.'  
A hand landed on Dean's arm and he nearly jumped out his skin. Crowley and Bela jerked back in surprise.  
'Jesus, Dean,' Bela laughed. 'What's wrong with you?'  
Dean was shaking. He fumbled for an answer. Crowley's eyes narrowed as he looked across the pitch. 'Oh, look.' His tone was sardonic. 'Dean's lover-boy is back.'  
Dean feigned half-hearted interest as he looked toward Cas, who had turned away from them. 'Looks like. And also, shut up.'  
Bela scowled and ripped up a few blades of grass. Then her expression cleared. 'I have an idea for your fireworks.' She indicated Cas with her chin.  
Crowley grinned wolfishly. 'I like it. His dad the big hot-shot writer. Taking them down a peg wouldn't hurt.'  
Dean looked back and forth between the two of them, uncomfortable, not believing what they were saying. 'You're not serious.' He waited. 'You are serious.'  
Crowley leaned into Dean's face and blew twin plumes of smoke from his nose. 'What's the matter, you still harboring a soft spot? I can see your yellow belly from here. Dean Winchester, too afraid?' Bela's accompanying laugh was hard and cruel.  
Dean clenched his jaw. 'Hey, I never said I wouldn't do it.' He tried not to stare at Cas. He thought of the phone at home. The silent, waiting phone. Cas hadn't called. The whole time he was gone he hadn't called once.


	20. Chapter 20

1996

Sam

Sam and Jess stopped talking when they heard the front door open and close, then Dean's footsteps on the stairs. Sam jumped out to the landing.  
'Dean, Cas is back!'  
Dean looked up at Sam and kept climbing. 'Yeah, I saw.'  
Sam waited expectantly. 'Aren't you going to go over?'  
Dean gave Sam an appraising look. 'Are you?'  
'I already went. Anna's back too! She's better, I think, better than she was last time she came back.'  
'That's great.' Finally, a hint of a smile.   
Sam stood there staring at Dean as Dean walked to his room.  
'What, Sam? Stop looking at me like that.'  
'I just thought...I thought you'd be happy to see him, that's all. You guys must've missed each other.'  
Dean sighed. 'Listen, Sam, I'm glad they're back and everything, but did you notice the lack of phone calls? And I don't see Cas rushing over here. We're not really friends anymore.'  
Sam groaned. 'What, just because you argued before he left?'  
'Well, I - How do you know about that?'  
'I live here, Dean, and I'm not deaf.'  
Dean squinted at Sam, then cocked his head and walked into his room. 'Yeah, well, there you go.' He closed the door.  
Sam raised his voice and spoke to the wood grain and the handle. He knew Dean could hear him. 'But it's Cas, Dean. You know he'd like to see you.' He could practically see Dean rolling his eyes. Defeated for the moment, he slouched back to Jess.  
'Don't worry, Sam, he'll come around.'  
'You don't know Dean. He won't come around unless you force him. I just hoped that...that Dean would go back to normal once Cas was here again.'  
Jess patted his arm. 'Give it time. It won't happen overnight.' She was right, of course. Sam was so impatient he could hardly stand it. 'Hey,' Jess continued. 'Do you want to come over to my house for dinner tonight?'  
That perked Sam up. 'Are you sure?'  
She smiled at him. The last trace of Sam's disappointment melted. 'Yeah, I'm sure. My parents really like you.'  
Sam blushed. 'I'll go ask Dean.'  
As he approached Dean's door he thought he heard Dean mumble something. Fuck it? Fuck this? He knocked and opened the door. Dean stuffed something out of sight into one of the books on his desk.  
'Do you mind if I go to Jess' for dinner?'  
'Knock yourself out. If you crazy kids aren't going to be here, I'll go grab something from the diner.' Dean ruffled Sam's hair despite vocal protests. Sam flattened it, scowling, as Dean strode past him and down the stairs again. 'Pleasure as always, Jess!' Dean called.  
'Hi and bye, Dean!'  
And with a chuckle, Dean was gone. Sam looked over at Dean's desk. He was dying to know, so he crossed the room with tentative steps. He flipped through Dean's books until something slipped out of one and fluttered onto the desk. Sam picked it up. It was a creased photograph that Sam recognized immediately. He, Dean, and Cas grinned up from the photo, their faces sun-burnt and sticky with melted popsicle juice. That was the day Dean and Cas had let Sam join in their game of truth or dare. Shortly after their dad had taken the picture, Sam had eaten about 15 popsicles on a dare and thrown up rainbows. Dean had laughed himself hoarse, even after Cas had whacked him for being insensitive. To make it up to Sam, Dean and Cas had let him pick all the pizza toppings when John ordered them dinner.  
'What changed?' He said it quietly in the still air of the empty room, half-expecting an answer to come to him in echoes.


	21. Chapter 21

1996

Dean

Dean felt Cas' presence eating into him like acid. His skin itched. He wanted nothing more than to run next door and throw himself at Cas, apologize, beg him to be friends again. The very thought made his stomach churn. How desperate and pathetic was that? Dean would not be the first one to try to mend that bridge. He had his pride. Cas was the one who had walked out on them. Walked out on Dean. He didn't go to the diner. Instead, he walked to Crowley's to find Bela. He knew she could drive the image of Cas' retreating back from his head.  
Crowley's place was on the other side of the tracks and no, that wasn't just an expression. Crowley technically lived in the next neighborhood over, even though he was only a few streets away across the ancient train tracks. He lived in a duplex in a row of duplexes with small bricked-over lawns out front. Weeds grew up at the corners of the houses, and one of Crowley's upstairs windows was completely covered with that ugly brown packing tape. Dean had no idea why. The place was small, so everyone mostly hung out in Crowley's garage. It seemed to be a sort of open house 24/7. At any given time, a strange mish-mash of people could be found there playing music, drawing on the walls with permanent markers, making out, experimenting with cheap tattoo guns, selling dodgy pills with little clip-art pictures of palm trees on them, or buying dodgy pills with little clip-art pictures of palm trees on them.  
Bela had adopted the garage as a second home. She mostly kept a sharp eye on everyone else's business and picked pockets. And that was exactly what she was doing when Dean walked in. She had her hand in the back pocket of some pierced guy who was chatting Meg up. He didn't seem to notice as she lifted his leather wallet and shook it at Dean. Her eyes flashed with spiteful humor when she took out a few crumpled bills and slipped the wallet back into the guy's baggy jeans.  
She tucked the money into her bra and walked over, her dangerously sinuous movements reminding Dean of the copperhead John had killed in their backyard a few years ago. It had emerged from underneath the front steps in the spring and Dean had watched its slick brown bulk winding like a stream across the grass. At first John had thought it was a rat snake, but then it had turned its head and revealed vertical pupils like a cat's. Dean knew he couldn't have, but in his mind he had seen himself reflected twice in the predator's flat eyes. John had beheaded the snake with one swift blow of the garden shovel.  
Bela wrapped an arm around Dean, who ran through a mental checklist of everything he'd brought with him. Nothing he'd miss.  
'Let's go have angry sex,' Bela suggested, her expression flat. Dean liked being in the glare of her flippant boldness. It meant nothing was left up to him. All he had to do was shrug and follow. Which he did. They ended up in the laundry room, pressed against each other in the detergent-scented air. Why did being with Bela always smell like fake chemical flowers?  
Bela ground against Dean, who tried hard to forget about Cas' expression in the photo he'd tried to rip up and throw out. Which he hadn't been able to bring himself to do. Bela's lips were hard and smooth on his. Demanding, bossy. He wished for a moment that they were chapped and hesitant instead. Goddammit. He threw himself into kissing her back but knew he was soft in his jeans, even when he slipped his hand up her shirt and underneath her bra, dislodging the stolen bills, even with her hot breath against his neck. She ran her hands down to his pants and discovered soft, pliant warmth.  
'What's the matter with you?' she asked. Emphasis on the 'you.' She wasn't curious, just offended.  
'Didn't eat my Wheaties this morning.'  
She undid the button on his jeans and dipped her hand inside his boxers, wrapped her fingers around Dean's flagging half-erection. Dean leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, tried not to think about messy dark hair and burning lightning blue. All he could see was Cas. His mind revolted, he opened his eyes and focused on Bela. She was the opposite of Cas in every way. Her eyes were narrowed. Her expression flashed self-consciousness for a moment before she hid it beneath irritation. 'What's wrong, Dean? The unexpected return of your boyfriend put you in a strop?' Dean knew she meant it as an offhand, non-specific insult, but it was like a lash across Dean's back. The soapy air seemed to condense around him.  
He shoved her hands off. She didn't know a damn thing about it. _'About what?'_ a sly inner voice asked.  
'Touched a nerve, I see.' She was really angry now. She leaned into Dean's face. 'Always thought you two were queer.'  
His jaw clenched. 'Fuck you.' He pushed her away, relished the low thud as her back hit the wall, did his pants back up, and stalked to the door. 'Yeah, fuck you too!' she spat.  
  
The next day, although a certain frostiness hung between them, Dean and Bela didn't talk about it. Crowley looked curious but something in their expressions must have stopped him from asking. It took every ounce of Dean's self-control not to look for Cas in the halls. He was jumpy and kept his eyes down. He was ready at any moment to leap around a corner or through a classroom door if he saw Cas. He didn't. He wasn't sure if it was because he was averting his eyes from everything except the floor or because Cas wasn't there. Dean supposed Cas could have just been there on Monday to register for the next school year.  
Dean, Crowley, and Bela planned their 4th of July anti-party. It was decided that they would use the dynamite to blow up Cas' shed. Not too close to the house. As much as Crowley liked to watch things burn, he was smart. He didn't want to hurt anyone and risk being caught. Dean wondered uneasily if the threat of being found out was the only thing holding Crowley back from more extreme ideas. He thought of burnt skin, muffled yelling, and secluded places in the woods. He shivered in the sunshine. As their plans developed, the contents of the shed rose through the murk of Dean's conscience; he assumed Cas had gone back to using it as a studio and a storehouse for all his paintings and drawings. Crowley and Bela made sure Dean agreed to be the one to light the fuses.  
On the first day of July, Sam asked if they could spend the holiday with Jess' family.  
'Jess' parents invited you, too, Dean, if you want to come? Can we go?'  
Dean was sorely tempted to join his brother and Jessica's family for a barbeque and fireworks that wouldn't harm anyone. He knew Sam was worried about him. He could salve Sam's concern as easily as accepting an invitation, could make Sam believe that everything in Dean was whole and unfractured. He hovered on the edge of an answer before slipping off the edge of the knife.  
'Sorry, Sammy, I've got plans.'  
'What plans?' The hope on Sam's face sank back into wherever it had come from. Dean hated seeing it. So he lied.  
'I'm spending it with Benny's family.'  
Relief.  
Dean smiled so he wouldn't cringe. He went up to his room and paced through the squares of early evening sun on the floor. He picked up a book, put it back down. Opened a notebook, closed it. He felt too restless to relax and too flustered to actually do anything. He stood still and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked out the window and saw Cas standing there across the way, in his room, looking in at Dean. There was an expression in Cas' eyes that Dean had never seen before. He looked helpless. Hopeless. Lost. In a bad way. The flip side of how Dean had felt when Cas had kissed him all those months ago. And that scared Dean much more than it should have. It lasted for a split second. As soon as Dean made eye contact, Cas looked away and walked from the room, his posture rigid. Left Dean shaking. Like always.  
  
Later that evening Bela, Crowley, Meg, and Alastair came over. Sam cast them a disgusted glance and slunk to his room. When Meg and Alastair were wrapped around one another on the couch and Crowley was outside smoking, Bela leaned over and tugged at Dean's belt buckle. At that moment, when the metal clicked and his belt loosened, Dean had an epiphany.  
It wasn't poetic and frilled with complex concepts. It wasn't remarkable or violent. There was no hallelujah chorus, no bright light, no gasp of 'Eureka!' It was quick, and clean, and complete. Dean felt the bricks of the wall around his heart shift and break. The structure made of sex and avoidance and denial cracked open and collapsed. Some sort of compassion flooded through him. It was like a rush of cool water. He felt unusually alert. Details jumped out at him. The tiny balls of lint that clung to the corduroy fabric of the couch. The dust motes that floated through the air. Every point where his shirt touched his skin. His mind took hold of the thought that Dean was a bad, broken person, bundled it up, and put it in a bin labeled 'Nonsense.' And once that was done, Dean saw that the lines between what he should want and what he did want were imaginary. And he didn't want this.  
He grabbed Bela's hand gently to stop her. She looked up at him, confused, wary, trying to find his angle. There wasn't one. His eyes were wide open. He shook his head.  
Somehow, that tiny movement clanged with a huge, unspeakable rejection. Dean's distaste was magnified as if his clarity were a prism. The beam of it blasted out from him and made Bela's hungry desires look crude and flimsy. She bristled at the sting of it.  
'Fag,' she spat. Meg and Alastair surfaced long enough to stare, then went back to sucking face. Dean didn't flinch. It was like someone throwing a pebble at the Trojan horse. The ridiculousness of it made him laugh. It felt so good to find something genuinely funny that he only laughed harder.  
Bela stared at him, then got up and stormed out, slamming the front door behind her.  
'What's got her knickers in a twist?' Crowley walked in.  
'Beats me.' Dean stood up and brushed himself off. 'Bum a smoke?'  
  
The night before the big blowout, Dean had a dream. It was extraordinarily ordinary. Dean was making grilled cheese. He had three sandwiches under the grill, and just as he wondered why there was an extra, he heard Cas' voice behind him. He turned and saw Sam and Cas and, between them, the space they left for Dean. Their plates clean and waiting. Their expressions patient. His heart ached.  
He woke up and cried. In that moment, he wished Cas was there more than anything, felt his absence like an abscess. And, for making him hurt, he hated Cas. Really hated him. He didn't know what he was feeling. Loss? Shame? Grief? And, as always, he was acutely conscious of the dark-haired and blue-eyed presence next door. He felt watched as he got ready, even though he knew he probably wasn't. Before Sam could walk out the door with his backpack, Dean nabbed him.  
'Oh no you don't. We're taking a day off today.'  
Sam stared. 'Dean, I have to go. You're only allowed to miss three days of summer school.'  
'Mhmm. And how many have you missed?'  
'Well, none. But...'  
'No buts! It's Independence Day, Sammy. Be independent.'  
Sam huffed. Dean saw a glimmer of something in Sam's eyes. 'Alright. What do you want to do?'  
Dean thought. 'Let's go downtown. We can go get some CDs or see a movie. I'll let you drag me to that bookstore and I won't even complain.'  
Sam's face lit up. 'Alright, let's go!'  
'That's the spirit. Ditch the backpack.'


	22. Chapter 22

4th of July, 1996

Sam

As Sam was walking out the door, Dean grabbed the loop on Sam's backpack and literally pulled him up short.  
'Oh no you don't. We're taking a day off today.'  
Sam was skeptical. What was Dean thinking? 'Dean, I have to go. You're only allowed to miss three days of summer school.'  
The corners of Dean's eyes crinkled and when he opened his mouth to speak Sam felt their conversation click into a familiar place. 'Mhmm. And how many have you missed?'  
'Well, none. But...'  
'No buts! It's Independence Day, Sammy. Be independent.'   
Sam almost laughed. Calm washed over him. Dean volunteered to go to Sam's favourite book store without complaint, so Sam caved.

Something in Dean had changed. Sam could tell that Dean was still angry, but it was the normal kind of anger, the kind that made Dean clench his jaw, not the kind that made Dean want to bleed himself dry. Sam could feel his brother coming back, just a little.


	23. Chapter 23

4th of July, 1996

Dean

They got back from their (totally awesome, in Dean's opinion) day out and Sam, flushed, ran up the stairs with his bag of nerd loot to get ready for Jess' barbeque. 'Thanks, Dean!' Sam hollered down. 'This is the best Independence Day ever!' Dean put the leftover fries and Sam's unfinished burger in the fridge. His smile faded at the thought of what he was going to do that evening. There were butterflies in his stomach. He went to the living room, sat down, and waited. For Sam to leave, for darkness to come, for the inevitable moment that would officially snap the wishbone of his oldest friendship. He was holding one end, Cas was holding the other, and Dean had felt the tension over the last seven months or so as they both pulled. It was time to break it, for one of them to get what they wished for and the other to be left holding nothing but broken, splintered bone.


	24. Chapter 24

4th of July, 1996

Dean

Dean lifted the latch and opened the door of Cas' shed. He remembered that he had once been amused and disarmed at Cas' response to Dean's suggestion that he get a padlock. _Who's going to steal a load of useless paper? There's nothing in this shed more valuable than the windows._ Which wasn't exactly true. Dean closed himself in and looked around. He whistled softly. Large sheets of paper were tacked up on all four walls, covered in all sorts of things. There were a number of drawings in charcoal that looked as though they'd been done very rapidly, the broad strokes forming outlines of naked people in various poses. There were dark ink-splattered paintings of animal jawbones, light pencil sketches, intricate designs made up entirely of colored dots, and dozens of drawings of leaves, petals, hands, and what looked like a beetle.  
A pile of sketchbooks was stacked on the desk. Dean put the box down on the floor and picked one up, suppressing his pang of conscience at invading Cas' privacy. In the dark he could just make out neat dates on the covers in Cas' steady handwriting. Dean picked up the one that was labeled 'Feb. - Oct. 1995'. Cas had done a sketch of Dean then, hadn't he? Cas had said he was breaking in his studio. It wasn't snooping if Dean just wanted to see the drawing of himself, right? Dean opened it to a random page and Anna stared back. It was the charcoal sketch Cas had shown Dean last year. Dean looked at it for a moment, then flipped the pages. A wine glass. A broken-down house. A page of colored paint blotches. A geometric design. Two hands. A tree. Dean smiling.  
Dean stood very, very still and looked at the sketch of himself. He was slouching in a chair and his legs were spread out, his arms were relaxed. He was smiling faintly, his eyes hitched up a little, his mouth quirked. Dean flipped backwards, just to see what else was there, and found himself again, hunched over the desk in his room, brow furrowed. Dean guessed he had been doing homework at the time. Heart pounding now, he kept flipping, backwards and forwards. Here was one of Dean in class, chewing a pen. Cas had captured the unfocused look in Dean's eyes perfectly. There was one more of Dean, a few pages after the sketch of him in the chair. It was just Dean's face, and Cas had painted in every last detail. Dean might have been looking in a mirror, except the Dean Cas had painted was light, breezy. Exuberant. Dean looked up from the sketch, dazed, and met his reflection's eyes for the third time that night. The Dean that stared back at him was...clenched muscle. Boundaries. Blood.  
He knew he wasn't the Dean he had once been, he knew it. But now it came to him that the changes he saw were entirely self-made. Was the Dean in the dark window really who he wanted to be? Could he change it all? Somehow erase the metallic militant glint in his eyes? Put down his heavy anger and sand down the spiteful roughness of his edges? He took a step back, looked at the painting again. For a second, he was Cas, looking at his best friend laughing. He took another step back and bumped against the light switch, which rocked a tiny bit but didn't turn on. Dean turned and stared at it. He was tired of sneaking around in the dark. Without letting himself think he reached out and flipped it up. He was blinded by the sudden brightness. He couldn't see out the window anymore but he knew the lawn would be lit up, knew he was visible from the house now, knew Crowley and Bela would be hoofing it back to the car. He put the sketchbook down and waited for Cas.


	25. Chapter 25

4th of July, 1996

Dean

The latch clicked and Dean jumped as the door to the shed swung open. Cas stood just inside, arms crossed, expression blankly furious. Dean stared at him, feeling like he'd been plunged into freezing water. It was the first time he'd seen Cas properly since the fight. He looked different. He was taller, bigger. His hair was more unruly, his eyes harder. Dean sucked in a breath.  
'What are you doing?'  
'I - ' Dean couldn't speak.  
Cas' eyes landed on the box of explosives on the floor. His jaw dropped, and something broke through his anger. 'Are you KIDDING me? What the hell were you going to do with that, exactly, Dean?'  
Dean had never heard his name spoken with that much venom. It made him want to fight. His entire body craved it. He emptied himself of emotion and said, 'What's it look like?'  
Cas flung his arms up. 'Oh, what? Are you throwing some kind of tantrum? What are you, five?' It was as if the last half of the year melted away, as if Cas had just slammed the front door, as if they had never finished fighting.  
Dean felt heat pour through him, dispelling the ice in his composure. 'It wasn't my idea. But I can't say I don't agree with it.' He glared at Cas.  
Cas gave him a withering look. 'You think blowing up someone's stuff with dynamite is perfectly reasonable?'  
Dean honestly agreed with Cas, but he felt a perverse sense of satisfaction as he said, 'Yeah. I do.'  
'Don't be such an idiot. How can you _still_ be angry?'  
Dean's voice rose. 'You're the one who disappeared and didn't call, Cas, so don't act all high and mighty!'  
'Is that what this is about? You know I didn't have a choice about leaving! You ignored me for a week before I left! You told me not to bother calling!'  
They were shouting now, stepping closer to one another.  
'I didn't MEAN it, you idiot! Anyone could have figured that out!'  
'Well, excuse me for listening to you! Stop playing the martyr, Dean, you're the one who started this stupid fight!'  
'Goddammit, Cas, I didn't walk out on my family.'  
'The whole thing was for my family! I left for my family. Just come out and say it, Dean, what is your PROBLEM?!'  
'You KISSED me!' Dean didn't even know what he was saying anymore.  
Cas froze and a barrier went up behind his eyes. Dean's heart thudded in his ears. Cas finally spoke, at a normal volume. 'If that's the big fucking deal then I'm sorry I ever did it.'  
Before Dean knew what he was doing, his fist was swinging through the air. It was a bizarre reversal of roles. His cheek where Cas had punched him months ago throbbed as if remembering the blow. Cas was bent over, stunned. Dean could see blood coming from a split in Cas' lip. There was a moment when Dean felt paralyzed with regret, then Cas looked up, dark clouds gathering in his expression, and lunged. He surged into Dean and pinned him against the wall, an arm across Dean's throat.  
Dean couldn't have inhaled even if he'd wanted to. Cas was so close, his eyes were boring into Dean's, his jaw was set and hard. Even though he could see Cas struggling not to hit him, Dean couldn't think of anything but how glad he was that Cas was touching him again and how confused he felt about feeling glad. His brain, overstimulated, simply shut down. 'Fucking do it,' he managed to choke out. He braced himself for the blow. And Cas kissed him for the second time.  
It felt like a bruise, like a razor, like a drive-by. Dean tasted blood. Cas crushed his mouth. It hurt, but even though Cas was the one with a cut lip, he didn't stop. Dean let out a small giving-up sound and then pushed back, tried to suffocate himself with Cas, tried to fill his arms with as much of Cas as he could hold on to. He didn't know how it had happened – he was wrapped around Cas, eyes closed. His whole body was pinned against the wall by hard lines and bony hips.  
When they broke apart and Cas lowered his arm from Dean's neck and looked at him warily, they were both breathing hard. Dean's brain clicked on again and overloaded. Dean's first instinct was to run, and he half did, making a weird movement toward the door, but Cas grabbed his arm.  
'Don't! Don't leave.'  
Dean tried to tug loose, tasting panic. 'What do you want from me?!' He didn't know what he was saying. He knew he wasn't making sense, but Cas seemed to understand.  
'I don't know!' Cas said emphatically. Dean stopped struggling. 'Not...that. Not you running all the time.' Cas cautiously released Dean's arm. Dean backed up, rubbing his neck, and Cas had the decency to look the slightest bit sheepish. They stared at each other. Cas broke the silence. 'I'm not sorry. About kissing you.' Dean was the hot air balloon, Cas was the flame. 'I am sorry I didn't call, though. I knew what you – I was just – '  
Suddenly, as it had the other day with Bela, Dean's world flipped. He'd felt the tinfoil-on-fillings shock as Cas had said the word 'kissing' but out of nowhere he recognized it as a mixture of happiness and anticipation. Dean was tired of fighting, tired of holding himself behind bars that he couldn't even remember putting up. Cas was right. So Dean cut him off. 'It's my fault. I...Cas, I was a dick to you, and I'm sorry.' There. He'd said it. He resisted the urge to bury his head in the sand or set himself on fire. He had no idea what he was doing now. But it felt right.  
Cas looked at him and Dean thought he saw a brief hint of relief. 'Me too.'  
Dean felt weight lifting from his shoulders. The pieces of himself that he had tried to evict came winging back home like passenger pigeons. The two boys stared at one another and felt their friendship realign and readjust. Dean let himself examine Cas, tried to chart the time they had lost in the changes he saw. Cas stared back, and for several moments they simply took one another in. Dean wanted to know everything about Cas' time away. He wanted to know where he had been, what he had done, about the people he had met. But it seemed so vast and irrelevant, and Dean knew they'd have as long as they wanted to catch up. All the anger was gone and the space between them was waiting to be filled. He finally spoke. 'Hey, at least we're square now. Well, sort of. My punch was way better.' His voice was shaky.  
Cas wiped at his split lip and decided to humour him. 'Not even you believe that.'  
Dean cast his eyes around the shed and they landed on the box of fireworks and dynamite. Cas' eyes followed Dean's.  
'I have an idea.'  
'Dean, we are not blowing up this shed.'  
Dean rolled his eyes. 'I know. I have something else in mind. Besides,' he said, rapping the art-covered wall with his knuckles, 'these are too good to destroy.' Cas' face turned pink. 'Yeah, you thought I didn't do it because I like you, but really it was to save your creepy nudist drawings.'  
'They're called gesture drawings. They take literally 30 seconds to draw.'  
Dean picked up the box, neck still sore and red. 'Alright, Picasso, just help me think of a place to ditch the dynamite. Unless you want it.'  
'Easy. Put it in _your_ shed. Don't people use it to blow up tree stumps?'  
'Knew I kept you around for a reason.'  
'So what'll we do with the fireworks?'


	26. Chapter 26

4th of July, 1996

Sam

Jess' house and yard were a hive of color and motion. Kids and adults alike were criss-crossing the yard and riotous laughter sounded above the babble. The sky was waiting impatiently for fireworks. Jess and Sam were eating hot dogs at a table with Jess' out-of-town cousins, talking about nothing in particular. Jess' tongue was purple from the grape soda and Sam wanted to paint himself that exact shade. He wiggled his bare feet in the grass. A gaggle of younger kids ran past shrieking and waving tiny American flags at one another. Underneath their shrill jubilation Sam heard the unmistakable roar of the Impala's engine. He swiveled his head, looking for the source of the sound.  
'What's up?' Jess asked.  
Sam took her hand and pulled her over to the fence that separated the back yard from the front. 'I thought I heard – '  
'Isn't that your brother's car?' Jess gestured at the Impala parked across the street.  
Sam opened the gate and they walked over as Dean stepped out, grinning broadly. 'Surprise!'  
Was that Cas in the passenger side? Sam grinned from ear to ear. 'Cas!'  
'Hey, Sam! And I'm assuming you're Jessica?'  
'Hi.' A grape-colored smile.  
'Dean's told me a lot about you in the last ten minutes.'  
'Shh, meet 'n' greet later. We're going to go set off some fireworks, do you guys want to come?' Two enthusiastic yeses. Jess and Sam ran back to grab their shoes and to ask Jess' parents, who agreed on the condition that Jess was back by ten-thirty. They piled into the car and drove.  
'We have one more stop to make,' Dean said, and a few minutes later they pulled up at a house that Sam didn't recognize. The downstairs lights were all on and Sam could tell there was a party going on; the driveway and the street out front were covered with parked cars.  
Cas smiled and unbuckled his seatbelt. 'He told me you hadn't talked in a while.'  
Sam never thought he'd see Dean look mortified, but there's always a first.  
'Yeah. In case you didn't notice, I've been off the reservation for a while.'  
Sam looked at Jess and they shrugged at each other. Dean turned around in the seat to face them. 'We'll be back in a sec, you guys sit tight.'  
Sam and Jess played tic-tac-toe with their fingertips on the leather seats for five minutes until Dean and Cas came back with Benny in tow. Dean laughed at something Benny said and Benny flung his arms over Dean's and Cas' shoulders.  
They drove out to the edge of town, the night warm and welcoming and filled with the sounds of people celebrating. Sam leaned his head back against the seat and listened to the voices of the people he loved filling the car. He pretended they were in the sea, that the car was floating and covered in seaweed. Excitement built up in him.  
When they pulled over at an old field just on the edge of town, Dean got out of the car and nudged Cas. He leaned in close and pointed at the treeline. Sam heard him say, 'The park is right over there. So if we time it right...'  
Sam watched Cas nod. 'Good thinking.'  
After that, everyone scrambled around sticking the fireworks in the ground in a ragged line. Jess raced Sam to see who could line theirs up the quickest. When they were done Dean made Sam and Jess stand back and he, Cas, and Benny waited by the fireworks with their lighters. Benny stared at his watch.  
'Ten seconds.'  
Ten seconds later, Dean nodded and they all started lighting fuses. The first fireworks from the park burst overhead. Their crackling and joyful whistling filled the air. Dean, Cas, and Benny jogged over to Sam and Jess and they waited, smiling, staring up at the huge bursts of light in the sky. Their fireworks caught with sizzling noises and rocketed skywards. Sam gasped as they burst and filled the sky with a riot of burning colors. He looked over and saw Dean leaning into Cas.


	27. Chapter 27

4th of July, 1996

Dean

Dean heard Benny and Jess whooping and Sam laughing as if from a great distance. All of his senses were currently preoccupied with his best friend standing next to him and staring up at the light-streaked sky. Dean thought about reaching for Cas' hand and waited for the appearance of fear or hesitance or anything that wasn't screaming, 'Yes, yes, do it!' There was only the desire to get closer. So he reached down and slipped his hand into Cas', who squeezed without looking away from the fireworks. It felt like their hands were made to be fitted together. Dean tapped a message into Cas' palm.

| -.-. | .- | … |

Cas looked at him searchingly. So Dean took a deep breath and said it without saying it.

| .. | .-.. | --- | ...- | . | -.-- | --- | ..- |


	28. Christmas Smut <3

Christmas, 1996

Dean

When John turned on the game and Sammy went to go read his new books in the sanctity of his room, Dean waded through the sea of wrapping paper, pulled on his boots, and plunged out into the freezing yard. He dashed across to Cas' house, shivering without a coat, and rapped on the door. The hanging wreath swung as the door was thrown open and Dean was temporarily stunned by the most horrifically garish Christmas sweater he'd ever seen. Bright red, the kind with blinking Christmas lights embedded in a crude cartoon of Rudolph.  
'Caaaaassie! It's the Baby to your Johnny!' Gabriel grinned at Dean around the enormous sugar cookie he was eating.  
'Whoa, I'm definitely Johnny.'  
'Have it your way, Dean-o. Merry Christmas and all that jazz.'  
'You too, Gabe. How's college?'  
'It's great. Though many of the people in my dorm have tragically fallen victim to a series of holiday-themed pranks.' Gabriel sighed dramatically, fooling no one.  
Dean grinned over chattering teeth. 'Christmas came early for you, then? Let me in, I'm freezing.'  
As soon as Dean relaxed in the cookie-scented warmth, Cas emerged from the end of the hall wearing a sweater to rival Gabe's. Dean tried as hard as he could not to laugh.  
'Is it a holiday disease? Is it catching?'  
Cas threw both of his hands up. 'Laugh it up, Winchester. Gabe got some for you and Sam, too, and he's forcing us all to wear them.'  
'It's my Christmas present to me!' Gabe chimed, and dashed off to get Dean's, leaving a trail of cookie crumbs.  
'Who's laughing?' Dean thought his ribs might snap from the effort of holding back. Cas looked at him with a flat, nonplussed expression which contrasted his sweater perfectly. 'You look great. Really brings out the color in your eyes.'  
'Shut up,' Cas grumbled. 'Did you just come over with your little dog to steal Christmas or are you going to come in and say hi to everyone?'  
'My little dog?' Dean was baffled.  
'Max. From The Grinch?'  
'The what?'  
'And you say I'M bad with cultural references.'  
'You ARE. I'll come say hi but I actually came to get you. Come over for a bit.' Cas perked up at the suggestion and Dean couldn't hold back a smile. A nice smile this time, although it would go back to a teasing one A.S.A.P. because holy hell, Cas in a themed sweater was hysterical.  
Cas beckoned Dean in to the living room, where Cas' whole family was spread out. Their tree was huge and the room was warm and friendly, covered in wrapping paper just like Dean's, with empty plates and mugs on every table. The radio was on and playing Christmas carols and Anna and Michael were wearing their respective Christmas sweaters. Michael looked like a stuffed frog, but Anna looked like she was enjoying herself, as did Cas' parents. Dean made the rounds. He gave Cas' parents the Christmas card Sam had made John and Dean sign and answered the standard questions about school and his dad. Gabe came down with two flat boxes. He shook his finger at Dean.  
'Now remember. Wearing these is not optional. I will be hugely offended if I don't see you and Sam in blinking lights and bright colors.'  
'Thanks, Gabe.' Dean had been aiming for sarcastic but the atmosphere of the house somehow made it sound half-genuine. Gabe patted Dean's cheek obnoxiously and then turned to rummage through the bowl of candy on the coffee table.  
Dean turned to look at Cas, who was almost-but-not-quite smiling. 'Mom, Dad, I'm going over to Dean's for a bit.'  
'Yeah, of course. Come back in time for dinner, though. You're welcome too, Dean.'  
After many thank-you's and goodbyes, warmed through from being in Cas' house, the two of them walked back across the snowy lawn under the darkening pastel sky. Dean carried Gabriel's – ahem - charming and delightful gifts. Their shoulders brushed with every step.  
'Your family makes Christmas look so...'  
'Cheesy?'  
'No.'  
'Hammy?'  
'Now I'm just hungry.'  
'You're always hungry.'  
'Perfect. You guys make it look so perfect. Like something out of a TV show.'  
'Is that a bad thing?'  
Dean shook his head. 'Nah, I like it. It's good to know that it can be like that.'  
Cas looked at him as they reached Dean's door and Dean met his eyes. He felt like Cas was trying to tell him something wordlessly. The air around them smelled like snow, the lights from both their houses lit up the burgeoning dark, and Cas was staring at Dean like he couldn't find the words to say what he meant. Instead, Cas reached out his hand and brushed along Dean's jaw with cold fingertips. Cas' gaze was so piercing that Dean was surprised his hand didn't go right through him. He leaned into the touch.  
'Want me to get the door?' Cas asked.  
'Yeah.' Dean stomped the slush from his boots onto the mat.  
Cas left the Christmas card from his family on the table next to the ones from Bobby and Ellen and a few of John's work buddies and they retreated to Dean's room, closing the door behind them. They didn't turn on the lights. The room was lit by streetlights and the brightness of the snow outside. Fat flakes started falling, patting against the window almost inaudibly. Dean heard Cas sigh happily, and the two of them flumped down wordlessly on Dean's bed, twisting to face one another. Dean threw an arm over Cas, mostly to obscure his view of the sweater. Cas wriggled around a bit to get comfortable.  
Dean felt like he could burrow into the warmth of it all. Getting to touch Cas whenever he wanted. It was still relatively new and they were figuring it out between them, but Dean was overjoyed to have Cas back, to hear all about what Cas had done when he'd been away, to have his best friend next to him again. He also loved...this. Whatever it was. Their time alone together when they could just exist and relax. They lay there quietly while the snow fell and Dean tried to memorize Cas in the bluish light. The dimensions of his face. The line of his nose. The shape of his eyebrows. He wondered if he could put his hand in the exact right spot on Cas' cheek with his eyes closed. Hm. He closed his eyes and moved his hand, felt the slight rasp of barely-there stubble beneath his palm. He opened his eyes to look. Spot-on. Yes. 10 points for Dean and hand-eye co-ordination. If the game were pin-the-tail-on-the-Cas, Dean would freaking OWN it.  
He rubbed the back of Cas' neck and Cas hummed a little and closed his eyes. He shifted and moved closer, pressing his body flush against Dean's, so Dean kissed him. It was slow and soft. They weren't in any hurry. Dean hiked up Cas' hideous sweater a few inches and rubbed circles onto Cas' hipbone with his fingers. Wrote letters. P. X. S. Drew shapes. Cas broke away and started kissing Dean's jaw, his neck, just beneath Dean's ear. Dean closed his eyes and felt the heat on his skin. It reminded him of that time he'd watched Cas work with watercolors. The instant Cas' dripping brush had touched the wet page the paint had spread out in a wide circle of tiny blue tendrils. A color nebula, a winter halo, a mushroom cloud the shade of Cas' eyes. It was hard for Dean to function with Cas kissing his neck, but he let his hand slip underneath Cas' sweater and trailed his fingers along the bumps of Cas' ribs. Cas made a helpless sound in the back of his throat that Dean felt more than heard. He brought his hand back down again and traced along Cas' waistband. Cas angled his hips back to give Dean more access.  
He opened his eyes when Dean pushed on his hip a little to get him to lie on his back. His pupils huge and liquid black, like tunnels under the earth. Dean marveled with his hands and his mouth. He kissed the warm skin of Cas' hips, stroked the downy expanse of his sides, below his ribs. Cas arched up beneath him, biting his lower lip. Dean moved up to curl over Cas and kiss him. He popped the button of Cas' jeans and slid them down a little as Cas raised his hips.  
Dean couldn't choke back a laugh and it shattered the silent peace. Cas' eyes flew open. At first confused, then comprehending. He groaned. Bright red and green boxers with decals of snowflakes and candycanes stared out at the scene.  
'Cas, you sexy bastard.'  
'Don't you say a word.'  
'Hey, I don't judge, you know, whatever freak flag you like to fly.'  
Cas tugged on Dean's hair a little. 'Say that ten times fast.'  
'Freak flag you like to fly, freak flag you like to fly, freak frag you – damn.' Cas hmphed a laugh. Dean grinned and lowered his head to rub his nose against Cas' cheek. He tried to come up with a way to let Cas know that he thought he was bizarrely adorable without having to say it, but he couldn't think of one. So he nipped Cas' neck and ran his hand down the bulging front of the Christmas boxers, savoring the shiver it evoked in his living Christmas ornament of a boyfriend. The covers rucked up and wrinkled around them. He rubbed up and down slowly until Cas was stifling moans against Dean's skin and grinding his hips up, holding Dean tightly with hot hands. Then he slipped his hand in through the candycane-covered opening and around Cas. Hot and velvet and hard. The smell of warm skin. Dean almost groaned along with Cas. He felt like he was seeing with his hands what Cas was feeling.  
Dean didn't have to think. His hand and his mouth moved on pure instinct. He knew what he himself liked, he knew what felt good, and he watched and listened as Cas responded. He saw what Cas was feeling as clear as day, as if the very air Cas exhaled was an instruction. Dean rose and fell with Cas, curled against him, pushed a noise of his own against every one of Cas'. Dean moved faster, squeezed a little harder, and leaned in to bite and suck at Cas' neck. Cas let out a desperate gasp and his body hardened against Dean. Dean pulled back to look at Cas' face in the half-dark as he came, bucking and throwing his head back, eyes clenched shut. The bed frame squeaked in agreement.  
Dean was floored. Cas' hair was ruffled and his eyes were black, his lips bitten pink. His clothes hung off him. He looked like an animal, in the best possible sense. Dean's erection was almost unbearable. Dean kissed Cas' warm mouth. Cas smiled at Dean, pulled out a few tissues from the box on Dean's bedside table, and gently wiped off the sticky mess just beneath his sweater. Dean hoped they'd ruined it. Breaths slowing now, Cas cast those eyes at Dean and reached over to unbuckle Dean's belt. His cold hands slid along Dean's hips as he pulled Dean's pants down. The cold air on his lower half reduced Dean to longing, a stomach-clenching wait, and a shiver.  
The room was a beautiful murky darkness and Cas' features were only half-visible as he swung himself up over Dean and then shimmied down until he was kissing the pale flat planes of Dean's hips. His kisses burned into Dean's skin like a brand. Dean felt Cas' hand on that heat between his legs, felt his knees go weak, felt Cas' breath on the most sensitive part of his body. When Cas opened his mouth and tasted Dean, Dean had to turn his head to the side and lift the pillow to his mouth to bury his moans. He knew he was chronically loud during sex and had probably scarred half of Crowley's and Bela's families for life and he had no desire to exhibit that particular part of his personality when his brother and father were in such close proximity.  
Cas ran his hands up the backs of Dean's thighs and sucked him down like he couldn't get enough. After the display Dean had just witnessed, he was helpless to withstand the small humming noises Cas made, the obscene (although quiet) sound of Cas' lips sliding on Dean's skin, and the pressure rising from the pit of his stomach. He gripped Cas' hair in a warning, lifted his mouth from the pillow and choked out Cas' name just before he fell from the edge of his orgasm and pulsed into Cas' mouth.  
When the aftershocks had finished rippling through his body, he looked down at Cas and wondered what – Cas pulled back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and fuck if that wasn't the hottest part of the whole thing. Dean threw his head back and let out a satisfied noise that made Cas chuckle. He reached down and pulled at Cas until Cas wiggled his way up and sprawled across Dean, whose pants were still down. Whatever. He was too heavy and relaxed to pull them up and who really cared anyway?  
'Hey, Cas.'  
'Hm?'  
Dean adjusted his position to look Cas in the eye. Blue interest. Post-orgasm satisfaction. A warm contentment. The connection was enough.  
'Nothing.' Dean smiled. Cas smiled back, unguarded, open like a favorite book, and closed his eyes, tipped his forehead to press against the side of Dean's face. The two boys lay just like that – warm, intertwined, bared completely – as the last reflected light faded and darkness tiptoed in. Dean was so happy to have his arms and his heart full of Cas that he didn't even think about light.


	29. Chapter 29

Castiel

He remembered the thick carpet, the pile of toys, the bright strange house. Someone else's dad. The thought of a napping baby. Jumping into piles of pillows, dreaming about outer space.  
He remembered the sun shining through the leaves. The shouts of children. The feeling of the chalk dry and flaking in his hand. The urge to scribble out his thoughts in shapes and colors.  
He remembered the blinking of flashlights.  
He remembered a small tent by the train tracks, Sam's laughter, a series of knotted ropes and camping stoves and sleeping bags.  
He remembered sitting on the floor with his sketchbook. Concentration. Avoidance. The scent of new paper. The thought of going home. Half-suppressed noises of frustration. His backpack next to him.  
He remembered scary movies, loud screaming from the TV, the crinkle of sleeping bags. Junk food, talking quietly, gentle snoring, and the whir of the fridge.  
He remembered the taste of whiskey, the impact of his fist on a cheekbone, the cold air nipping at his fingers, a slow and inevitable kiss. Hands on his back. Full lips on his own.  
He remembered fireworks painting the sky, a map of friendship, the sizzle and fizz and explosion of sparks. The singed grass. The warmth of a hand in his, the fingers tapping out a secret. Joy.  
But most of all, he remembered Dean. A silent boy. A fellow sidewalk-scribbler. A lighthouse at night. A friend. An escape route. A comfort. A blaze of freckles and fire and challenges and courage. A home. His home.


End file.
